


Search & Rescue

by oly_chic



Series: Prowl x Jazz LJ Community 2015 Annual Challenge [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Challenge Response, Light Bondage, M/M, Mentioned Plug and Play Interfacing, Missing in Action, Virtual Reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-22 11:18:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4833440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oly_chic/pseuds/oly_chic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Early war, before war declaration but during military ramp up of increased rebel activity)</p>
<p>Jazz tries getting ahead so he can be placed in Special Ops, but he can't play the military-politics game accurately for his superiors to see the fit. What's a mech to do to learn how to make it through administrative paperwork, train by their rules, and fight like a Special Ops agent? Get a private instructor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers.**
> 
>  
> 
> This is for the Prowl x Jazz LJ Community 2015 annual challenge. Click [here](http://prowlxjazz.livejournal.com/926239.html) for the challenge prompt's post, or see story end notes for the condensed version.
> 
> I didn’t add character tags for minor character appearances, and one character I'm so loosely familiar with as it feels like false advertising if I added his name.
> 
> I used the Aequitas supercomputer as a naming guide. Examples: "Arx" means citadel, “Acies” means army, “Somnus” means sleep.
> 
> Not beta’d! Didn't even get a second alpha review because of its due date and an evil overlord bunny emerging, demanding no mercy. So… many… pages! So much research! Tis alien fanfiction, bunny, why did looking up Latin matter?
> 
> Otherwise, hope you enjoy! Feel free to point out errors, issues, and/or love.
> 
>    
>  **Time:**  
>  Klik = Cybertronian equivalent of a second  
> Breem = "" minute  
> Joor = "" hour  
> Orn = "" day  
> Deca-orn = "" week  
> Mega-orn = "" month

Jazz leaned against a wall forming the entrance of Kaon’s Arx, a military center designed for virtual reality based training. Soldiers and officers moved around him, going in or out, depending on their duties. He prayed the last member of his training mates wouldn't be late because there were at least two others for the session already on the verge of being unhappy. Each was reason enough on their own for staying on their good side, as they were both his superiors, but one Jazz was loosely seeing off-duty.

Neither of them were easy for Jazz to always please, as they were big on procedures, regulations, and sit-down lectures. Where Jazz lacked stillness in office or lecture settings, though, he often made up in proficiency in missions. He excelled in Special Ops training, able to hold every servo and fan still for almost twice length of any other soldier. Despite that strength his command chain was holding him back.

A handful of brightly-colored recruits shifted and a smooth blue-white Towers mech practically glided through them. If Jazz didn't know Mirage so well, he might have interpreted such an entrance as pompous.

Jazz hopped up and pivoted into the Arx entrance, motioning for Mirage to hurry and join him. "Come on, Raj, training starts soon and I’d like to start off on the right ped. Preferably even stay there."

Mirage chuckled, a deep smooth sound as the pair started walking through the halls. "Still working to impress the one you spend time with in a less-than-professional capacity?"

"And Ultra Magnus. He's running the training session. He already told me he still agrees with command on keeping me from getting placed into Special Ops." Jazz's mood sullied. "He says I need to be able to sit through one of his lectures without fidgeting to prove I have discipline. And that’s just his first requirement!"

"Then you're doomed. Unless you can convince his acting second for private lessons?" The subtle smirk on the spy's face was as teasing as an outright leer.

"Already had a few. Think I'm improving.” A smirk slipped past Jazz’s professional mask before he squashed it.  He stopped at a plain door, marked “1284,” Mirage following his lead. "Bee's in there, too."

The door slid open and the two stepped into a room fitted with eight specialty berths along three walls, giving space to the three already standing in the middle. Jazz greeted, “Ultra Magnus, Clamp Down. Jazz, reporting for training.”

“Mirage, reporting for training,” the spy added.

Ultra Magnus curtly nodded. Clamp Down, a black-and-white former Enforcer with accents redder than a corrections pen, offered the slightly warmer greeting of a pressed smile. Bumblebee grinned brightly. The young mech quickly updated the arrivals. “Plans changed. We’re going to be joining a mass training session.”

The saboteur-in-training raised both optic ridges. “Really? When does it start?”

Ultra Magnus responded. “Ten breems ago. I recognize that you are on time for our original plans, but in times that you have nothing scheduled beforehand, you should try arriving early.”

Jazz kept his engine in check, not letting the displeased rumble be heard by Magnus’s or Clamp’s audios. He didn’t care much for already losing points, even if unofficially. Mirage showed no reaction to the light chastising, well-schooled from Towers society.

Ultra Magnus pointed to the four berths against the back wall. “You three connect there. Clamp and I will connect on the side wall.”

Jazz, Mirage, and Bumblebee settled themselves into the VR training berths, designed to stimulate their frames to match the training, minus the actual damage. Jazz hooked the primary cable line for the army VR server, Acies, into his neck’s recharge port. With a quick command the world dropped away.

An incredibly bland bare metal world surrounded him, devoid of any non-regulatory colors. A clear indicator that Ultra Magnus was in charge of the team, able to designate movements or kick mechs out. In front of him read “1284: Acies Connection Room” in crisp black. A small console below the labeling waited for Magnus’s commands. Jazz glanced about the room as Bumblebee and Mirage materialized next to him, followed by Ultra Magnus and Clamp Down.

Ultra Magnus flickered, reappearing by the console. “Our exercise is a surprise by the High Command stationedin and around Kaon. A simple exercise, but one designed to see how well the various units respond to quick changes. We will be continuing to function as a Special Operations team, but in a less serious capacity.”

The way he said “less serious” peaked Jazz’s curiosity and he hoped the rumors are true. “Sir, is this ‘Capture the Matrix’?”

Clamp Down nodded. “Yes. We’re on the green team, trying to steal the blue team’s Matrix.”

Ultra Magnus didn’t look too terribly pleased but he reached out to the console, his fingertips imprinted with his access codes. With a few taps he uploaded a small green-paint dot on all five members’ chasses, followed kliks later by weapons designed for their skills. Ultra Magnus had his usual blaster, while Clamp Down his usual rifle. Both lacked their shoulder-mounted missiles, restricted by the simulation’s rules.

Bumblebee, who switched to “black bee” mode, was given scout weapons: a short-range blaster, a rifle with a sniper scope, and a handful of different type of grenades. Jazz had the same set of grenades, with smoke, flash, and percussion, but he also had several types of explosions. Jazz checked and was pleasantly please to find an electromagnetic pulse (EMP) grenade. He wasn’t so worried with only being equipped with a short-range blaster and a short blade.

Like the scout and saboteur, the spy’s short-range blaster had a silencer. Mirage wasn’t equipped with grenades but several types of discreet surveillance devices. “Sir,” Mirage inquired, “will I have the same limitations on my cloaking device as I actually do, or will this game allow me extra time?”

“You’ll start with the same limitations,” Ultra Magnus began. “We don’t know where the other team’s Matrix is located, but it won’t be out in the open. It’ll be well guarded. Mirage will plant the surveillance equipment to find out where it’s located, while Bumblebee will assist him in advancing locations. Jazz is in charge of getting Mirage extra cloaking time.”

Jazz’s restrained smile boomed before he brought his excitement down to an approvable level. “How?”

“For every sentry point you disable, you’ll earn Mirage ten more breems.”

“Will that be enough?”

“Any eliminated sentry points will reassemble anew every thirty breems. You’ll have plenty to keep you busy and plenty of opportunity to keep Mirage’s cloaking powered.”

The room labeled disappeared, replaced by a map. Ultra Magnus walked them through the initial setup. “We’ll be placed on the outskirts of Kaon. We represent the south half, so you three will be infiltrating the north half. Clamp and I will provide a ‘home’ location.”

Clamp Down nodded absently, looking to Ultra Magnus. “We’ll also be providing coverage for Jazz if he’s pushed back, or either of you should you need to return. Respawns for us are every forty-five breems, and you’ll respawn back by Ultra Magnus.”

Jazz fought the urge to impatiently tap his ped. If he died he could read up on this as he waited. Clamp Down continued, “Depending on why you’re killed or kicked out, Ultra Magnus may decide to keep you in a penalty pen. Abiding by regulations is more important than winning the game. Remember, this is a training simulation so how well you follow rules of combat will be the ultimate measure of your performance.”

Jazz blurted out, “Can we go already? Performances won’t be worth anything if the Blue team steals our Matrix while we debrief.”

Ultra Magnus narrowed his optics and pursed his lips is disapproval, but Clamp Down look more disappointed. Jazz didn’t have a chance to save face, as Ultra Magnus beat him to speaking. “Get ready. We’ll be dropped into an on-going battle in three… two… one.” He pushed a button.

The five appeared on the outskirts of Kaon, the sky clouded black by raining long-range artillery explosions. Mechs dashed around, weaving in and out of debris.

Bumblebee flinched and settled low, crouching as he pulled out the short-range blaster. He called to his teammates, “I thought this was a simple capture game!”

Ultra Magnus replied with his typical battle authoritative voice, “Our purpose is to capture the enemy’s Matrix. Other teams have the purpose of defending from the rebels, and some are the rebels. Keep your helm in the game and heed your surroundings, but don’t deviate from your purpose.”

“Absolute insanity!” Jazz laughed.

Mirage drawled, “Yes, absolute. Shall we go?”

“Yeah!” Jazz whooped.

“Then get me some cloaking power.”

Ultra Magnus nodded and shot a stray shell high in the air, causing it to disintegrate far enough over helm that harmless ashes fell around them. “Jazz, head to the north outer sentries. Mirage, set up surveillance along any path he clears. When the sentries reform, those who respawn will be calling into their command to get the latest update. We’ll plan our next course of actions from there. Jazz, take point. Bumblebee provide coverage to Mirage’s back until he gets in. Then hold until Mirage returns.”

The spy disappeared but Bumblebee’s heightened awareness allowed him to roughly pinpoint the spy so long as he kept track. Jazz hopped into the lead position, keeping low and slithering threw the destruction as he sought the first unsuspecting sentry point along the outer wall.

Jazz melded into the charred wall, moving his body in alignment so the black paint match the burn marks while white paint blended with the blast rings. All three guards were visible, though never at once. He watched their movements, confined to a tight circular area below covered roofing. A fourth mech wouldn’t fit in there. Their movements were synchronized and the motions of the guns gave away the pattern of their sweeps. Their trainee mistakes of giving away their optics’ gaze made it all too easy for Jazz. Their physical paths went wide, clearly uncomfortable with such a confined space and trying to stretch the distance for all its worth.

Such easy prey. In all too little of time he crawled up a crumbled tiny section of wall, ignored for appearing too tiny for a mech. Jazz had the patience to twist his body around, timing the motions and maintaining statue-like stillness for the breems it took for the guns to move away. Upon climbing the crumbled wall, his position still crouched, he stepped right behind a mech’s back. With one swift motion he thrust up through the back and into the mech’s rear spark chamber wall. Before the mech could finish a gasp Jazz had his blaster out and silently tapped the other two once.

A tiny green meter on his right forearm appeared and blinked while filling to the ten breem slot. Jazz grinned for all the predator he was in these games, knowing the sentries would likely be guarded by similarly foolish teams. Keeping Mirage’s cloaking powered so they could capture the Matrix was well within his power. Hopefully this wouldn’t turn pitiful and dull.

He flitted from one sentry group to another, taking out three and on his way to a fourth by the time the first regenerated, and with it so did the soldiers. Jazz realized that while his respawn time might be 45 breems for him, it was 30 breems for guards.

Jazz was on his way to taking on the fifth when he received orders from Ultra Magnus for the three teammates to relocate at the marker on the transmitted map. Mirage’s surveillance revealed the most like path to the northern quarantine area, which his surveillance also indicated it was the most likely Matrix hiding place.

Ultra Magnus and Clamp Down stayed behind, securing a fallback position where safe. Jazz was tasked with eliminating the inner sentry points, which he quickly learned were better staffed. The long breems of infiltration the outer guards turned into tens of breems. It added a new challenge element. If he couldn’t clear the next sentries within 29 breems then the first would reappear with the guards already seeking an attacker on their sister sentries. Almost twice he was picked off before he better adapted by delaying the next attack for 40 breems. He used the 29 breems for moving to the best covered position, be it structural protection or camouflage, as close to the top as possible. After 10 breems of the respawned guards and the targeted guards looking for him, they’d finally relaxed their heightened state of alert.

That changed when he was at the fifth tower from the quarantine wall. He wouldn’t have that kind of time per sentry point to get Mirage up against the wall, where they could regroup. Their regrouping point doubled as a major checkpoint. Ultra Magnus and Clamp Down would automatically teleported to that location for the next stage.

There was only one hiding ledge on the fifth tower, but its diminutive size severely limited Jazz’s options. While his grenades could reach the target from his hiding location, the resultant blast/smoke/sound would alert everyone else. Suddenly he heard a disembodied voice alerting his tower and the next sentry point that an interloper was in position to attack that next point. A disembodied voice he was certain belonged to Bumblebee. When those above him placed their backs to him he fired.

The pair worked together, Bumblebee using captured enemy communicators for deception and the occasional assistance of Mirage. His cloaking device was sufficiently charged. Soon enough they found themselves against the quarantine wall and their two leaders appeared. A bubble formed around them.

“Good work, team,” Ultra Magnus commended. “Checkpoints are protected by force fields and cloaks. It’ll last 3 breems.”

“Indeed, good work,” Clamp Down concurred. He looked at all three. “You’ve succeeded so far without breaking protocols, although Jazz has come close to the legal ethics portion.” Clamp Down stopped his optics at Jazz, but his expression had a note of weary consideration.  “The monitoring systems of Acies has you on alert for nearing that line.”

“It’s a game and it drops you out before you can feel the kill.” Jazz shrugged off the concern. “No trauma, only the frustration of reading the summary report of your mistakes while you wait 30 or 45 breems. Whatever Acies’s systems are calling borderline legal is probably a matter of perspective, given the nature of Special Ops.”

Ultra Magnus’s face pinched hard. “You are not Special Ops yet.”

Clamp Down’s expression was much better. Jazz wasn’t about to back down for what he saw _them_ overlooking. “This is a Special Ops training assignment, taking place inside a battle zone. A battle going beyond a half-orn now, and the enemy is getting more intense as they learn with each respawn. So yeah, I’m going to act like a Special Ops agent, making quick decisions – ”

“Impulse decision,” Clamp Down argued.

“– and they’ll be more grey than white. Now, we’re sitting inside enemy territory with the countdown timer running. What’s our orders?”

Ultra Magnus huffed but called for a quick summary of surveillance discoveries. With a breem left, Ultra Magnus laid down a plan as he transmitted a grainy map, marked with enemy dots and the suspected best run path.

“Alright team,” he concluded, “we breech the wall hot, use it to cover our tracks and then go as silently as we can from there. Clear?”

“Clear,” the rest said in near-unison.

Jazz planted half of his percussion grenades and explosions against the wall, using putty he picked up from his sentry attacks, arranging them almost artfully; musically, really, so they set off in a rhythmic timing to rumble the wall lose for the next explosion. Bumblebee had his percussion grenades ready, Mirage holding the scout’s smoke grenades. Jazz was ready to throw his EMP grenade as far down the middle as possible once Mirage ignited the smoke. As soon as things turned hot again after their breech, as Jazz suspected despite Magnus’s belief the disruptions and “kills” would be enough, he’d cover Mirage and Bumblebee with his blaster and remaining grenades.

As soon as their force field drop, Jazz detonated his makeshift attack. The wall exploded into the quarantine, away from his team, and Bumblebee compounded the damage by tossing three percussions. He fell behind cover when a few shots grazed him. The enemy’s blind fire ceased when the grenades went off.

Mirage, audios off, invisibly dashed into the commotion and scattered his smoke attack until the area was almost entirely blacked out, before backing out. When Mirage flickered his cloaking device to signal his clearance, Jazz tossed the EMP grenade as hard as he could with his elbow. Throwing with his should would arc and risk the grenade clearing a patch of smoke, right into someone’s shooting path.

The EMP went off and the gasped sounds of stunned mechs filled the air, many “dying” instantly. Most mechs survived by weren’t moving, having been far enough from pulse at denotation for lethal attack through their armor, but plenty close for being crippled.

They ran through the smoke and around confused blue-dotted mechs. Ultra Magnus took lead, with Mirage and Bumblebee behind him while the other two held the rear. Magnus shot several standing mechs until he found a protective wall nook, just within the limits of the smoke cover.

Clamp Down looked at Jazz as they crouched together. “Try to keep your impulses under control. There’s a way to do this without walking a tight legal line.”

Jazz calmly in-vented deeply, slightly regretting it for the tiny bit of smoke pulled into his vents. “I’ll try my best.” Jazz hastily kissed Clamp before moving his helm back towards his forward-sitting teammates. Only Jazz’s optics lingered on Clamp from behind the visor.

Clamp Down slightly smiled, but the unease showed in the lines from a set jaw. That was the same expression Jazz saw several times before when Clamp reminded him about his impulsive nature or tendencies to walk tight lines along legalities.

When Ultra Magnus signaled to move, Bumblebee and a cloaked Mirage took over as point. Jazz slipped past Magnus to become the new middle. They moved around supplies crates, Jazz knocking out a few mechs (rather than eliminating them behind their backs), until they saw an enclosure with a Matrix-like blue glow inside. The minibot and the invisible spy moved to steal it as instructed. Jazz moved as close as he could to the enclosure’s one opening, hiding behind a few cylinders.

What triggered the detection they didn’t know, but suddenly opposition poured out from the walls above and from the enclosure. Some stayed within the enclosure, cutting off the two members from escape. Ultra Magnus, the one with the biggest blaster, blew several crates so their shards flew into the ground-level attackers.

A frantic hail came from Bumblebee. ::They have us pinned! We’re behind some spare weapons fixturing but our cover is being chipped away with each shot. They have blast shields up, so out ammo and grenades aren’t piercing it. Requesting advice!::

Jazz laid down and peered into the enclosure, assessing the situation firsthand. A mech stepped into position behind the blast shield, allowing Jazz to witness how they were moving around the shield and aligning themselves. Too many mechs were behind that shield for Jazz to stop without being stopped himself. The blast shield was a one-way force field that completely blocked all angles of attacks from his current position, as well as his trapped teammates. He could barely make out Bumblebee’s form, although he was right about enemy fire destroying his cover. Each round of blasts took out enough cover for Jazz to see the mini-scout a little clearer.

The observations sparked an idea but Jazz tried reasoning through the madness to keep the impulsive brashness in check. When the next attack round tore up Bumblebee’s shoulder he stopped trying to resist it. Death might not be painful here, but injuries weren’t.

He pulled out two grenades and set them for detonation in each hand, one explosion and one percussion. He scurried low to the ground until he was behind the fixated mechs and the shield they put too much faith in protecting them.

::Raj, Bee, turn off your audios. Get in as small as you can because there’s about to be an explosion and shockwave. As soon as you can move, grab their Matrix. Good luck making it back to the original home base.::

Jazz moved to close the last bit of distance between him and his enemy. Those closest to him didn’t have time to turn before he set off the grenades.

Jazz woke up in the Acies Connection Room, still colored bare metal. As his heightened senses returned to normal, aches began emerging across his frame from his activities throughout the entire exercise. He knew his real frame would feel the same, completing the full effects of training in a mental and physical sense. Only his death wouldn’t translate.

About fifteen breems later his team dropped in abruptly, made extra abrupt by Ultra Magnus’s ranting. “How could you do that, Jazz? Do you know how many protocols you broke?!”

“We won and I didn’t really die.”

“That’s not the point! We may have captured the target, but we did not win. Remember what I said in the beginning, about winning being about performance? Victory by suicide doesn’t count, even if it’s a fake suicide!” The large mech was practically hovering over Jazz.

“Magnus,” Clamp Down cut into the rant he knew would be about protocols and performance management. “Perhaps I could finish the discussion with Jazz while you logoff with Mirage and Bumblebee? You can take them to the post-mission meeting room and debrief.”

Magnus settled back. “Fine; acceptable. Bumblebee, Mirage, logoff and we’ll go through debriefing and medical checks to make sure your frames were not incorrectly stressed.”

“Yes, sir,” both agreed.

The three dropped away and the room flashed white, indicating no control had been taken over since Magnus’s departure. Jazz turned to face Clamp Down. “I know it seems rash, but I saw Bumblebee taking serious injuries. Unlike when I stab a mech through a spark chamber during training, that ghost pain stays around for ours. For all I knew, Mirage was being injured as well. I wouldn’t apply this to real conflict, because there are a few things I would’ve argued. For example…”

Clamp Down held up a silence hand and Jazz obliged with only a frown to show his annoyance. “Whatever you’re about to say are afterthoughts from waiting in here, isn’t it? You saw a quick solution and went for it. I’m sure a real battle would be different in some way, but what remains the same is that you’re impulsive when things get hot, you lack patience for dull or non-mission activities, and you play loose with mission legalities. That may sound like Special Ops to you, but not to Magnus or me. It’s clear to me that I can’t get through to you the values any of that, and I’m just too frustrated now. My skills can be used elsewhere more effectively. Goodbye Jazz, I hope you figure out how to make it.”

Clamp Down disappeared with his final word barely free of his vocalizer. Jazz stood dumbfounded. An urge to logoff as fast as possible and catch the mech popped into his mind, but he crushed it. Such an action would only prove to Clamp Down he was making the right decision by giving up on Jazz.

Instead, Jazz sat down and pulled his legs in close. He should logoff and go to his post-op debrief and medical check. He would go, but not after taking a moment to calm down. He knew Ultra Magnus was thinking along the same lines and while certain tones would be absent from Ultra Magnus’s speech that were in Clamp Down’s, he feared the words would be similar. He didn’t want to be given up on, he just struggled to always be what they wanted. He struggled on finding that balance within himself, or even keeping someone willing to work with him until he got there.


	2. Chapter 2

After passing their medical checks, the three soldiers headed to a small bar not too far away from the Arx, but far enough to minimize the chances of running into someone who knew Clamp Down. Jazz hadn’t told them yet, only quietly commenting that his verbal shakedown by the mech had him wanting time away from such associations.

A few drinks into the evening found them in a private booth with Jazz protesting about the comments from Clamp and Magnus. Ultra Magnus didn’t say much more to him, other than informing him of tomorrow’s mandatory one-on-one office meeting. That meant what Magnus had just _that_ much to say.

Everyone knew Jazz wasn’t suicidal, there was no question of that or call for a psych evaluation. Among friends Jazz pointed out that a real operation would never go down as simulated, where chaos might exist but not with so many different agendas, so taking a last breem unrealistic shortcut to victory in an unrealistic environment shouldn’t be such an issue.

“But that’s not even really the point,” Jazz complained. “My point is they hold me back over such stupid things. That I can’t sit still during one of Magnus’s long lectures, or that I make snap decisions that they see as rash. I'm not impulsive, I'm just too quick for them. I acted, you guys aren’t hurting near as bad as you could be right now, we won, and no one really died. _Ugh_ , I’m going to have to sit through one of Magnus’s long lectures about how I’m too impulsive. Talk about a double-whammy.”

Bumblebee nodded in-between gulps. “Yeah, you’re pretty much doomed to make things worse tomorrow. How about we go to a club and you dance until you burn off so much energy we have to drag your tired frame back to the barracks? Maybe you’ll be too tired to squirm in your chair tomorrow.”

Mirage sighed. “How exiting, dancing in a club with mechs in need of a good cleaning. We aren’t near any of the few higher-end clubs of Kaon. If it keeps you from getting a bigger punishment detail, I’m willing. Unhappy, but willing.”

“Thanks, but that plan hasn’t succeed yet. Maybe I should go recharge now and then burn my energy before my meeting?”

Bee shrugged. “Worth a shot. Want company home?”

“Nah. You two have fun. Go to one of the Raj-Approved clubs.” Jazz gulped down his drink, feeling enough effects to know he either had to walk home or take public transportation. While nowhere near the seedier parts of Kaon, he chose to hop the transport and get off at his barracks.

With his roommate out dancing with Mirage, Jazz angrily crashed straight into his berth. He barely took the time out to get comfortable, far more frustrated than anything, before connectingto the recharge port and altered the settings for a full processor defrag.

Unlike the recharge ports at the Arx, this was a standard connection and took him straight to his standard Somnus Connection Room. The Somnus virtual reality system was the Cybertronian standard across the city-states for recharging mechs, and it allowed him to customer is CR however he wanted.

A large window made up one of the walls, showing the skyline of whatever city he was physically located. The contents of his room were more of his colorful old home in Polyhex, spread out like a musician/dancer living in an open apartment. His walls were a blend of pearl white and the Rust Sea. Opposite of the window was a simple silver door. Although the room beyond that door appeared literally one steps away, it stored his private pleasantries and thus was kept on a separate server for personal safety.

In place of an actual apartment front door was a softly glowing portal, beside a screen displaying the time and a control console. That “door” took him to the public Somnus servers, but he wasn’t interested. His mood was still soured from knowing tomorrow he’d have to sit through the strange cross of boredom and lashing only Magnus could accomplish. Something he knew he’d make worse, even if he managed to hold back from making his points: that he hadn’t truly acted rash but made a snap decision from quick calculations and collected data. He knew everything relevant about the game, the stakes, and the team’s situation. He acted on that, protected his team, secured the team victory, and no one suffered.

Despite those points he knew he wouldn’t really come out ahead with Ultra Magnus. Even if he could find triumph in tomorrow’s argument, he’d be one step further behind getting onto a Special Ops team. He had to learn how to plan and participate in that particular game better.

Jazz used his console for browsing the different public servers available in search of an augmented reality for his needs. Unfortunately he couldn’t find anything beneficially close. The free education servers didn’t offer anything particularly applicable, and while the game servers had options geared more towards mechs like Ultra Magnus they wouldn't help.

If anything, his search yielded more evidence that Jazz needed a private tutor of sorts, one capable of dealing with the clash between his personality and military culture. Jazz hardly felt encouraged to try again and find a mentor within the actual military. A third option existed and the more he considered it, the more he liked the solution.

Like his rented private small server, Somnus could provide a private AI-mech designed to his needs. What did that look like when personified? Some of that would come from those he didn't understand, such as his reserved superiors. If he had to develop the type of discipline that matched his commanders’ idea of personal restraint, then he needed an AI capable of the same serious self-discipline - but one with communication skills he could actually understand. He'd also need one capable of teaching him how to handle the lengthy lecture periods of Ultra Magnus, he dully realized. Being able to sit through those and maintain focus would require practice.

In fact, if he were thinking about his superiors, he’d need an AI capable of planning like them; to learn how they classified and arranged their soldiers, and know how to fit exactly where he wanted. The AI would need to be intelligent like his well-educated superiors.

All of that necessary in a profession sense, Jazz couldn’t see himself struggling in the real world with Ultra Magnus, only to recharge with an AI similar to that same mech. Personally he'd like a quick-witted AI, willing to be open to his ideas of what to do for breaks between lessons. Those ideas could be outlandish adventures or games of varying types of fun.

He and the AI wouldn't go to any simulations on the Concubitus server, as it was rather taboo to bring a fake-mech to a party of willing mechs. There wasn't any reason for him to need an AI like that, per say, but then if he was being honest there was one kink of his that tended not to exist on the Concubitus server. Plenty of mechs pretended being Enforcers but he knew the difference. True Enforcers typically didn't need the servers since they were often preprogrammed mechs with tight ties to their units, and those that did visit servers used guises. No, _if_ he indulged in such activities with the AI then he wanted one programmed to be as legitimate of an Enforcer as possible. Plus Enforcers had mindsets compatible with the military protocols and regulations of an equally ranked officer.

Personality traits and pseudo-occupation selected, he needed to pick a frame. On first impulse he nearly selected a Polyhexian frame like himself, but he held back. He perused the different frame models until he came to Praxian and Vos. He’d heard plenty about wings but hadn't come across many winged frames in Polyhex or Kaon.

Which should he choose? Both intrigued him, but after some deliberation he concluded sticking with ground-based models was best for his professional interests. The AI would probably invoke drills (groan) and he recognized the need for compatible alt modes. AI-mechs could use avatars like real mechs, but he didn't need a Seeker.

Finishing by selecting a primary paint scheme of standard black-and-white Enforcer, Jazz reviewed his selection and costs. There was an option to give the AI a name rather than system-generated, but it was strangely expensive. Jazz glanced at the explanation, noting that it had to do with edits to any reusable coding. Why it didn't use better variable declaration to avoid the issue, he didn't know, but he shrugged it off. So long as the AI didn't have an ugly name it was an unnecessary financial waste.

His submission form was now complete, leaving only the contract. It included standard jargon for not abusing the system or its extensions. There were lengthy disclaimers about accuracies based on submissions and how realistic the representations.

The latter required him to weigh his priorities for the compilation. Jazz didn’t need to think too hard on what trait he wanted the system to not compromise: intelligence. Even if he didn’t get to have fun with this AI, if some of that was sacrificed for a "realistic" military-smart mech, it was ultimately more important to have an AI capable of extrapolating what Jazz needed it advance into Special Ops. There was a "Purpose" section for him to fill, one that linked into all of the above.

Last item was contractual type of ownership: did he want to outright own the AI, ‘rent’ it full time on a mega-orn basis, or a shared-lease? The later was almost free, allowing Somnus to move the AI to fulfill other assignments while Jazz was away. The only downside was that the AI would not always be immediately accessible for him, if it was unable to disengage when he logged into Somnus. Seeing an option to change later, Jazz selected the shared-lease.

Satisfied with his selection, at least for a first compiling, Jazz submitted the request. Now he had to wait until the system notified of completion. He knew these tended to take a while, depending on several factors, but since he went to recharge early he had the time.

Without a need to actually wait in his Connection Room, Jazz searched for a music-based game server with an open session. Finding one for matching instrument play to quick-scrolling notes, he locked onto it and passed through his public servers portal.


	3. Chapter 3

A couple of joors later Jazz received a ping from the server. ‘ _Faster than I expected._ ’ Jazz disconnected from the server, rematerializing in his Connection Room. The new AI would be waiting in his private room, already loaded up to simulate a casual greeting area similar in appearance as his CR but with plush couches.

He stepped into the room, the motion lagged briefly as Somnus switched his server location, and stopped to examine the fake-mech presented before him. The mech _appeared_ entirely real as he sat on a white-and-grey couch, behind the entertainment table. His hands were neatly folded in his lap, and he almost blending with the furniture if not for the stark red chevron and pale blue inquisitive optics. The red was an unexpected addition, but not one he minded.

The mech stood straight, but his hands remained folded. He canted his helm in greeting. “Hello, I’m Prowl.”

Jazz nodded back, waiting to see how the AI would behave.

After a few kliks of silence, the AI asked, “The system’s information refers to you as Jazz; shall I call you by that name?”

“Yeah, please do.” Jazz looked the total-virtual mech over from what he could see in this position. “Prowl, huh? Nice name. I was slightly worried the ‘reused self-designator coding’ would be something ugly.”

Prowl offered a small smile at the compliment. “Thank you for the appreciation. However, as the contract says my primary duty is to teach you how to behave in certain situations, such as military personnel politics, you might want to substitute ‘ugly’ with ‘unpleasant’ or ‘difficult to pronounce’.”

“Ah, right. Because ugly can be taken as an insult, even if I’m saying you’re not it.” Jazz wasn’t socially inept, quite the opposite, but he humored the AI’s forthright efforts. A reminder to treat the AI-mech as a real-mech, since that’s what Jazz wanted. The AI would react to unexpected bluntness just like any one else.

“Correct. May we sit and discuss more of what your concerns and how I’m to address them? I reviewed the ‘Purpose’ section of your contract, but I noticed some inconsistencies with it and the submission’s personality traits.”

“Sure,” Jazz said, both to sitting down and discussing whatever confusion the documents were creating. This was his first privately-contracted AI, so he had a bit of a learning curve to overcome himself.

When Jazz sat opposite of Prowl, the Praxian took his seat. Two tablets appeared on the short table between them. Jazz’s optics snapped between them and the fake-mech, his optic movements hidden by his visor. “You can alter my VR settings or object configuration?”

“Not without you assigning me such permissions. I can only pull up the AI Request submission and AI Usage contract as I need.” One tablet snapped to Jazz’s lap and the screen flashed the contract’s “Purpose” section. “You indicated in this that you need help with discipline in a military environment so that you may improve your standing with your superiors, as well learning how to approach certain training missions with a mindset of becoming of a command-trusted agent.”

Jazz cycled his optics behind his visor, a bit amazed at how well Prowl cleaned up Jazz’s lazily written explanation. He figured it was an administrative deal, ignored unless something happened where Somnus’s administrators needed to investigate him for something. “Yeah, that’s basically it.”

“In your submission you selected an AI with an occupational background of mid-grade Enforcer. You placed heavy emphasis on planning capabilities, which combined with your Purpose statement might be interpreted as tactical capabilities. Why did you want an Enforcer instead of an officer?”

Now Jazz was nearly gaping as he stared. Perhaps he placed too high of an emphasis on intelligence! Was there a non-offensive way to tell a mech (for all tense and purposes) that he picked that mech’s occupational background because of a personal kink, in case he found said mech plenty fun? ‘ _Oh, so awkward and I haven’t even done much more than say “hi”. Except I didn’t even say that. Wow, total fail, Jazz._ ’

The young Polyhexian scratched his audial horn, feeling embarrassed at his absence of decent behavior. “Can we start again?”

“Certainly. I have no objections how you want to direct this conversation, assuming that you remain true to the contract.”

Jazz laughed a little, trying to ease his self-consciousness. “Hi, I’m Jazz. Welcome to my pad.” He leaned forward enough to grasp Prowl’s forearm, a common greeting among friendly soldiers/Enforcers, and his apologetic offering for being unreceptive to the AI’s arrival.

Prowl returned the greeting. “A pleasure to meet you, Jazz. How’s your orn fared?”

“Not well,” Jazz admitted, seeing no reason for false small talk. “I got into trouble again with my first-line commanders, Ultra Magnus and his acting-second for the mission, Clamp Down. We had a simulated battle and I got us the victory and saved my team, when we nearly lost both – from a too-simple plan ordered by Magnus, in my opinion – but they strongly disapproved of how I did it. Clamp, a former Enforcer, disapproved of it so much he called it the last draw and left. Magnus has scheduled me for an early beating with his unabridged regulations tablet.”

“I see. Did you request advice from an Enforcer since you were rejected by one?”

“Something like that.” While he figured the AI meant that in a purely profession sense, it was partly from him still smarting a little thanks to his ill-placed crush. Clamp Down and he never had much more than a few kisses here and there, although it didn’t bother Jazz too much because he had other options for settling his stronger charges. If anything, he was saddened by losing the closest he got to someone with an actual Enforcer background, his regulation-loose attitude a bit of an immediate turnoff to them. Hence why Enforcers were on his mind when selecting Prowl’s occupation.

Prowl nodded. “How long will you be in recharge?”

“Dunno, will have to check my CR. Normally I just do what I want until it pings me warnings. I opted for a full defrag; you know, clear the mind and whatnot.”

“A full defrag optimizes a processor but doesn’t necessarily clear the mind,” Prowl pointed out. “Are you worried about your meeting with Ultra Magnus?”

“Yeah. It’ll be hard to keep still and maintain focus during his lecture, and considering it’s a lecture about how he finds me too impulsive…” he shook his helm. “Don’t think I’ll pass soldier inspection, or whatever to call it.”

Prowl’s gaze settled more fully on him and Jazz almost squirmed from the piercing blue. “How about something to ease your tension while helping you improve your self-discipline?”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“A game on the public servers. It’s an open game, but it allows for two-mech private play. I suspect it may appeal to your preexisting training enough to keep you from growing restless, but still force you to take control of your issues.”

“What game?”

The corner of Prowl’s mouth lifted into a faint smirk. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t know ahead of time. While you know the general purpose behind your upcoming meeting, you won’t know how it’ll progress or what arguments Magnus might bring to the table. Likewise, you’ll know we’re heading into a game but not what kind. Adaptable self-discipline.”

Jazz grinned. “I’m up for a challenge. Let’s go.”

The tablets disappeared and Jazz stood to re-enter his CR. The necessity to come and go through his CR wasn’t strictly required by Somnus, but by his own imposed safeguards for moving between public and private servers. Special Ops trainees had some of the toughest CR encryption to prevent a body-jack, and by passing through it, hackers hiding on public servers couldn’t trace him to his private server.

“Jazz, please wait.” When Jazz looked at him a raised optic ridge, Prowl explained. “I can’t follow you into your CR, unless you authorize it. Each time.”

“Really? Even as an AI of Somnus? Isn’t that like saying a mech’s body is allowed to transform into his alt mode, save his hand? Kinda self-crippling.”

The first real hint of a smile touched Prowl’s face, but hardly more than a faint smile and optic glint. “A safety precaution against hackers masquerading as AIs.”

“How am I supposed to know the difference?”

The optic glint disappeared, replaced by a neutral expression. “To have someone like me cross into your CR, you take their hand.” Prowl extended his hand, palm sideways.

Jazz reached back and carefully grasped the hand, feeling for solidity. Not only did the hand feel as firm as his, but it felt very cool to the touch, like a mech with his engine stuck in a prolonged idle state. “Wow, a lot of detail.”

“Pardon me?” Prowl inquired curiously.

“I didn’t know AIs felt like mechs, much less like one taking a long recharge.”

Prowl’s optics flickered. “Do you wish Somnus to change that? The perceived temperatures vary among Somnus-controlled mechs, depending on a few variables.”

“It’s fine. Now what?”

“Now I send you my unique system ID and you store it for verification each time.” Jazz’s fingers tingled before a lengthy code popped up in his HUD.

Jazz’s mouth fell into a little ‘O.’ “I see why I should store it and not even bother memorizing it. That is a lot of characters.”

“It’s 32 characters long. Don’t let go of my hand until after we both successfully load into your CR.”

Jazz tugged and walked across the door’s threshold into his CR, the lag lasting slightly longer than normal. When he felt Prowl’s hand stabilize, the coolness returning to a steady sensation, Jazz let go. He allowed Prowl to look around, taking a moment to glance at the primary screen. He still had enough time for whatever Prowl intended, if the hint was anything to judge by.

Prowl’s gaze fixated on the window. “Is that Kaon’s skyline?”

“Yeah,” Jazz replied, amazed at the observation. “How’d you know?”

“I’ve seen images of all the city-states.”

“Ah.” Maybe a little less amazed now, although there was something to still be said about the inquisitive nature to search for a matching city-state profile. “The window shows the skyline of whatever city-state I’m recharging in. It rotates photos every time I recharge. I think there are about 30 right now for Kaon? I never counted what’s in the package.”

Before Jazz could point out the timer a different thought interrupted him. “How long have you existed?”

“Excuse me?” The befuddled look on Prowl’s face was something Jazz instantly liked and he was disappointed when it lasted only kliks before returning neutral.

“You said you’ve seen images of the city-states. You’re new because of my customer order, unless I’m really not as unique as I think. I know the submission form stated that recycled codes would be reused where apt but it didn’t say how much.”

“I’ve existed for awhile. I’m uncertain on the duration of my existence here.”

Jazz nodded, accepting that vagueness for what it was for the moment, and changed subjects. “See that screen?” he pointed to what was mounted by his portal door. “The countdown in the top right corner is the estimated time until my recharge is complete. Plenty of time, right?”

Prowl studied the countdown. “If you needed to disrupt your recharge from here, could you?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I’m only curious. Regarding your question, yes that’s enough time. Is the console below it how you control access to the public servers?”

“Yup. That and configure my private server to whatever simulation I want. You need access authorization or do you want to tell me now?”

“Please grant me access authorization.” That faint, pleasant smile returned.

Jazz approached the console and added Prowl’s lengthy identity code into the “access authorized” database, formerly a database of one. He stepped back. “All yours.”

Prowl stepped up and started pressing the controls but immediately stopped when the screen changed. He glanced at Jazz. “Don’t look.”

The saboteur-in-training snickered. “Okay,” he promised while turning around.

Only a few kliks passed and then he felt Prowl’s hand brush slightly against his shoulder. “The designation is still on the screen…” the voice behind him hesitated. “If you’d humor me and walk backwards through the portal?”

Jazz’s snicker turned into a light chuckle. “Alright, just make sure I don’t hit the wall.”

They made it without colliding and Jazz felt not only the world change around him, but also his body change into a new avatar. When his vision focused he took in his surroundings. Green pointy things surrounded him and he could no longer see straight in front of him, only to the sides. When he tried to speak he found himself unable to vocalize words, emitting weird sounds. An alert popped up in the corner of his _eye_ , a request for opening private communication line. He accepted and initiated communication before Prowl could try. ::I’m a fuzzy organic creature in an organic world! What am I standing _in_?::

::It’s called grass,:: the amusement in the explanation very clear. ::This field and the surrounding forest is uninhabited by other players. There are computerized animals throughout, though, so we may be the only two players but not the only two moving parts. This is a simple race-and-catch game, but the variable in here is that you aren’t afforded the comfort of playing in your normal alt mode.::

::Unafforded comfort, indeed. I don’t even know what I am!::

::The administrators labeled it a rabbit, from some planet an explorer documented well enough for imported game play. I’ll start easy on you. Take what time you need to familiarize yourself with the body, its limitations, and the senses.::

Jazz did as instructed while grumbling, ::When I asked for an AI with an open mind, playing organic wasn’t what _I_ had in mind.::

He swore he heard a tiny laugh. ::My other function is catching game cheaters. I’m familiar with almost all games available on the Somnus public servers. Organic-based games often prove the most challenging for self-discipline, given the many differences between them and us.::

Jazz muttered about “the many differences” as he familiarized himself with the strange movements of a rabbit. When he felt confident with interpreting the senses, and adjusting for the vision changes, he surveyed his surroundings. ::Where are you?::

::That’s part of this exercise. The current avatar you’re fitted with is a fast creature, capable of darting quickly across fields and hiding in forests. Your brown-black fur color is designed to blend in with dirt patches and thick shrubbery. Your job is to not let me catch you before you identify me. I’m giving you a 2 breem head start, once you start moving.::

::What and where are you?::

::That’s what you have to identify, through your senses and a database for all the possible animals I might be. You also have access to a basic map. This will require focus for figuring out what and where I am, and may or may not be an exercise in withstanding boredom. That depends on what I do. There’s also a self-discipline challenge. Your avatar’s instincts will be to run.::

::This is really weird…:: Jazz shook his paws and flexed each claw set. He liked that part.

::You said you were up for a challenge. Are you backing away from your declaration?::

Jazz groaned playfully, realizing that Prowl was one to not only hold him to his words, but push them, too. Taking in what he could see and comparing it to the map, he whooped, ::Never going to catch me!:: He took off, amazed at the unconventional view of the ground so close to his nose as he headed into the forest.

::We’ll see:: Prowl replied without his tone rising to the taunt. ::I’m not planning to be quick about it, so you’ll have plenty of learning time.::

::Seriously?::

::Maybe.:: That same tone gave nothing away, whether his previous statement be truth or lie.

By the time Prowl called the 2 breem mark, a shrub-covered Jazz had a strong hunch his private instructor would be all he hoped.


	4. Chapter 4

Jazz walked into Ultra Magnus’s office, focusing on applying his lessons from Prowl. If he could beat a cat, a fox, and a hawk as a newly-experienced organic prey creature, surely he could handle this repetitious dance. The fact that he lost to a snake wasn’t going to make a difference, though it was a rather enlightening lesson about looking beyond prey-predator relationship markers.

“Sir,” Jazz said as he stood at attention.

“At ease, Jazz.” Ultra Magnus signaled for Jazz to sit across from him.

Jazz sat and focused on Magnus’s posture, the sounds of his faint fans, and his squinted optics. There was little chance he’d listen to all of Magnus’s words, but maybe he could sit still if he practiced watching for the signs of moods like he watched for signs of what hid in the forest. When Prowl started the game as a cat he didn’t make Jazz wait too terribly long, but the hawk and snake last a lot longer. So far he had a success rate of 50% of managing to make it through long boring waits. A new personal high achievement.

Ultra Magnus started. “Have you thought hard on what happened?”

“Yes, sir.” For the 15 breems before he logged off of Somnus. Prowl guided him through reasoning out a defense that improved his chances of not losing face, but refused to give any pointers. The closest Jazz got was Prowl saying he should bite the bullet and accept the fault, focusing on mitigating chances of new negative impression to his superiors.

Jazz thought that sounded like a nice _future_ goal, but he would try. “My actions weren’t conducive to the team’s development. The training mission’s journey and lessons were more important that the mission’s goal.”

“I’m glad you’re finally acknowledging that, Jazz. Your actions weren’t conducive in these specific ways….”

‘ _Here we go,_ ’ the soldier longingly groaned.

Joors later, after Jazz completed a relatively-minor punishment duty and passed standard training troop drills, he excused himself from Bee and Mirage for private reflection during recharge. In truth he wanted to follow up with Prowl.

When Jazz logged into the CR, he first used the console to load up the same greeting area on his private server. When he logged off, Prowl informed him that he’d be kicked out of Jazz’s CR automatically and could only return to Jazz’s private server. Jazz gave Prowl a tentative return time of 20 breems ago, so he should be there. He entered to find Prowl standing by the couch.

“Hello Jazz. Perhaps next time you might set a timer to load this room _before_ I’m in it? Your couch almost loaded on top of me,” he dryly commented.

“There’s an option for that?”

“For purchase yes. If you have the funds, of course,” Prowl added, a touch of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. “I sometimes forget the fiscal requirements for mechs to acquire what I’m familiar with.”

“I’ll get it before I logoff. You spend time with other mechs?” Jazz felt touch of ether jealousy or disappointment when his jaw tightened, but he dismissed it. This was an AI, and one he selected sharing.

“No, you’re the first in this context. When you were awake, Somnus had me reallocated to catching game cheaters again. Cheaters usually have timers set to try and avoid detection by reducing load times, and having automatic disconnects.” Prowl’s doorwings subtly flared out, the top corners moving slightly up. “They haven’t be able to avoid me for long, even with the hacks and misused purchasable options.”

Jazz memorized the doorwing motion as one for pride. “Thanks for your earlier help.”

“Did you do as I suggested?”

“Start the conversation off with saying winning with fake-suicide was bad and that I was a very bad, very sorry mech?”

“Not exactly what I said, but if that’s how you chose to interpret it.”

Jazz shrugged. “I started the conversation as you suggested, apologized, and then Magnus went into his lecture. I managed to not fight him _too_ much and I even heard most of what he said for the first joor. Only mildly annoyed him when he caught me zoning out during the second joor.”

“Another personal record?”

“Yup. It looks like you’re already a good fit for me.” That playful comment earned Jazz Prowl’s color-tinted cheeks.

“Do you have any other upcoming meetings, training, or activity that you’re concerned about your presentation?” Prowl sounded normal, but his tinted cheeks didn’t lose their color until the end.

“Hmmm,” Jazz had to think on that one. “There’s a rumor among scouts about a scout teams doing a three orn training session of protecting a political event from sabotage. One of the selected scouts is Bee, who will be supported by his core teammates – so, Raj and myself. I’d like to make our team look good. While I can stand still for joors in potential enemy territory, I’m a little worried how well I’ll do in a three-orn political event that _may_ be infiltrated.”

“Does the rumor have an idea when this might start?”

“Four of five deca-orns out? Supposedly it’s being constructed from scratch on the Acies server, but they’re in the beta-testing phase now.”

“Who’s doing the beta-testing?”

“An established army troop, but don’t know who.”

Prowl nodded once, slowly, with a thoughtful look. “The beta-testers would tell you the likelihood of sabotage, and what type. However, your team would be given higher regards if you perform well without evidence of having knowledge not normally available in the real world. I can amend existing simulations and build instructions based on my own knowledge.”

“You have knowledge on event sabotage?” Jazz’s visor blinked.

“There is a lot that makes up Somnus,” Prowl dismissed the question. “Can you tell me more about your core teammates?”

“Bumblebee is a scout, Mirage is a spy. Bee’s a minibot, Raj has a cloaking device. I could run a command in my CR to download my processor’s information on my team to a tablet for you to review later. If Somnus doesn’t deploy you again to hunt game cheaters.”

“There’s periods of low activity, when most mechs are awake for the orn. I can review it then.”

“Cool. So, I was thinking maybe we could do a racing game, a little more normal to a Cybertronian? Don’t need instructions right now. Would rather get to know my instructor more, and understand private AIs a little better.”

Prowl tilted his helm in a soft nod, his face smoothing back into its normal neutral expression. “Whatever you need to understand me better.” Prowl’s optics darted away for a moment but then settled back on Jazz. “Within the context of the contract’s stated purpose.”

A bashful AI? The realism was pleasing, and Jazz could see why there were warnings about mechs falling for their private AIs. He’d have to be careful that he didn’t start pursuing his AI as if he were an _actual_ mech.

Jazz held out his hand. “Let’s go. I’ll pick the game this time.”

Prowl took his hand. Jazz felt and saw the ID ping and quickly verified it, to get into the practice. When the ID was verified, Jazz tugged on Prowl’s hand and they crossed into his CR. After about 15 breems of Jazz purchasing the timer, selecting what to download regarding his core team members, and selecting a racing track, he was ready.

He called to the mech studying the new skyline image, “Everything is ready.”

“Alright,” Prowl replied and he approached Jazz. “What kind of racing game?”

“Nope,” Jazz smugly chortled, wagging a finger. “Your turn to find out.”

|···|

Almost four deca-orns later, Jazz was starting to break his own caution about falling for his AI. After the second recharge cycle he spent with Prowl he chose to spend the next two with several friends, Bee and Raj included, as Prowl worked around the public servers to build his instructions. Jazz hadn’t given him access yet to his private server, not yet comfortable having another entity capable of changing his configurations on him.

That changed after his fifth recharge cycle with Prowl (seven cycles since Jazz put in the AI request), when they hit server congestion on the only server capable of supporting Prowl’s plans. There was only a handful of options then: wait out the congestion, scramble for new plans, have Prowl test Jazz’s lecture stamina with another lengthy exposition about Praxian Enforcer regulations (followed by a Q&A Jazz was nowhere near achieving a 100% yet), or give Prowl limited permissions to his private server. Some permissions would allow Prowl, as part of Somnus, to import sections of existing gaming skins and a few low-end AIs.

The changes rearranged his default preload for Prowl, turning it into a turbofox hunting game, running through simplified renderings of underground tunnels. As they took turns the various texture layers loaded, and Jazz was amazed at seeing a game build itself layer-by-layer, AI groups popping up in scattered location. He was so amazed, in fact, that Prowl snuck up behind him and nipped his tail.

That little bit of trust and control given to Prowl seem to loosen his instance on always acting upon the contract’s purpose. Jazz never pushed him or resubmitted a new contract purpose, seeing no reason to treat Prowl like an object, thereby defeating his purpose.

The permissions Jazz allowed were limited in that Prowl was allowed to add simulations to Jazz’s queue, but only Jazz could give the order for his server to execute any simulations. Initially he felt a twinge of guilt over the restriction but Prowl smiled and said the caution was the first time Jazz truly treated him like a real mech; he didn’t mind a Special Ops trainee having reservations about handing over possible total control to someone.

After that Jazz found himself pulled more and more towards spending his recharge cycles with Prowl. His friends kept asking him what he was doing, and he’d always reply with “specialty training.” He only told Bumblebee and Mirage the truth after the third time they asked. Initially they were very supportive of his training, but after he was gone for another deca-orn, they started tentatively raising their concerns he was falling for the PAIT. The “Private AI Trap” was something more of a rich-mech’s problem but not impossible for others, where mechs stopped spending recharge cycle with their friends, altogether.

Jazz dismissed it until halfway through his fifth deca-orn since Prowl first appeared. When Jazz logged in and entered the default lounge room, now including a few purchases Praxian crystal plants at Prowl’s request, he didn’t see the actual Praxian. Rarely was Prowl ever late, but when that happened it wasn’t more than a few breems.

When nearly a third of his recharge cycle was wasted with him sitting on the couch, however, he was plenty anxious and impatient. When Prowl materialized at his checkpoint location by his crystals, Jazz jumped up and swiftly approached him. His natural social graces kept it from coming across as aggressive, though his words were open to interpretation. “Where were you?”

“My apologies; there was a server crash for a major sports game, from hackers trying to anonymously steal as much credit and victories as possible. Only a breem ago we had all the hackers apprehended and smoothed out the server’s functions.”

When Jazz stared at him for a half breem Prowl’s hand twitched. “I came as quickly as I could, but my duties to Somnus resume when you logoff. I can’t disregard any in-progress pursuits when you log back on.”

“Well, then I’m going to have to do something about it.” Jazz pulled Prowl’s hand from his side, walking back to his CR access door, absently noticing the ID verification progress or the chillness always permeating from Prowl’s hand.

When they crossed, the minor lag from pulling Prowl across almost normal now, Jazz let go and walked to his console. Prowl wandered behind him, studying the skyline like he often did. “What are you doing?”

“Changing the contract so you’re no longer a shared-lease, but a mega-orn-ly rent.”

Prowl’s doorwings twitched, just beyond the corner of Jazz’s optics, keeping away the possibility of Jazz figuring out the meaning. “You want me here full time? Are you sure? Sometimes your training sessions keep you off of Somnus for a recharge cycle, and you’ve got that three-orn training session coming up.”

“I can afford it. Mirage transferred some credits to my accounts, saying that if I was going to spend my time learning to make the team look good, I better do it right.”

“That explains the new private server upgrades. If you’re going to keep me tethered to you fulltime, then perhaps we can alter the private servers default room to a studio apartment? Something for me to work with while you’re gone.”

Jazz questioned him, his confusion turning into a small frown. “I thought AIs went on standby when their renters or owners logged off.”

Prowl’s optics dimmed, losing about a quarter of their normal icy brightness. “There’s variation within Somnus-controlled mechs, but it’s true that AIs typically go straight to standby. Those are usually simple ones.”

“So since you aren’t simple, you need a few things to help you go on standby.”

“That’s roughly it.”

“Okay, well, let me submit this. Then, since we lost too much time for training, we can spend the rest of our time working on building a new default, with whatever our studio apartment should look like?”

The Praxian’s doorwings fluttered and then snapped straight, about the same time Prowl’s optics brightened beyond even their normal settings. “You want a simulation of us living together, instead of me joining you in your receiving area?”

For the first time since meeting the Praxian, Jazz’s cheeks were tinted from the heated energon beneath his plating. “I guess so. Yeah. That sounds really nice.”

When Jazz submitted the contract, nothing happened for several kliks until Prowl’s optics flashed green. A smile broke across the Praxian’s face and Jazz could see him trying to rein it back into his favored neutral expression. He was almost there when he acknowledged the reason behind the optic flash. “The system has accepted your changes. May we start? Finding a middle ground for some of our preferences may take some time, and as you pointed out, we’re already behind.” His right doorwing twitched a little with the soft tease.

When there was only 30 breems left in Jazz’s recharge, they had most of the furniture laid out and a few details here and there. Most of the coloring was grey-scale, save for a few objects, as they agreed to do that last. Things like the couches remained, although they were temporarily relocated against the wall, and the berth was large with softly top lining, built for a winged frame.

After Prowl finished arranging a crystal plant inside a window planter box, the window currently looking out at nothingness, Jazz rested his hand on the Praxian’s shoulder to keep him from moving to the next task. “I’m getting a warning that my recharge cycle is almost over. I can save our progress before we leave and we can pick up later when I get back.”

Prowl looked at him with a sideway frown, with a distracted look in his optics. Jazz knew that look. “Go ahead and ask whatever it is that you’re trying to decide whether or not it’s okay for you to ask.”

“I know another mech like me, who is familiar with architecture and interior decorating. A bit of a snob, actually. Given a few of our disputes over our apartment, I’d like to maximize my time here while you’re away.” He stopped and his mouth hung open, hesitantly mouth a few words before his vocalizer started. “May I use his expertise while you’re away? I can give you his system ID and you can send him a one-time invite code. He’ll be gone before you arrive, and I can show you designs.”

“What about you being on standby? I know you said it’s not so automatic for you, but it’s still pretty automatic.”

“Don’t worry about it. Grappleand I have the same parameters that deal with the standby automation.”

Jazz shook his helm. “I’m going to need to attend some of those free education seminars sometime to learn how AIs work. I’d ask what parameters those are, but I doubt I’d understand any of it. Send me Grapple’s system ID.”

Prowl did and Jazz sent the invite code, with a “start” time just after he’d logoff. Jazz verbally confirmed it to Prowl. “I sent him the invite code with a start time after I leave. I included your information so he wouldn’t be too confused.”

“Thank you.”

“We have a few more breems. Anything else you’d like to discuss for when I come back?”

“How big of an issue is it for you to have a whole wall dedicated to music?” Prowl asked, a soft smile indicating he already knew the answer, but he also knew how much Jazz loved talking about it. Jazz loved how much Prowl knew him, even if a part of him was warning that he was in far too deep with an AI.


	5. Chapter 5

A few orns later, Jazz received word that in five orns they’d begin the much-rumored scout-focused training. When the orn’s pre-mission paperwork concluded late into the evening, both Bumblebee and Mirage tried getting Jazz to join them for a Somnus party, because starting tomorrow Ultra Magnus would have them running drills until the actual event.

The three were walking back to Bee’s and Jazz’s room. Bumblebee pleaded, “Please? We never see you for anything fun. We basically haven’t seen you in Somnus for deca-orns.”

“I’ve been training with Prowl so I can better handle missions of such potential dullness,” Jazz replied with a reassuring smile. “It’s nothing against you guys. If they’re going to actually put me in Special Ops, going from soldier-with-agent-training to actual agent, it’s going to take all of my time.”

Mirage interrupted Bee as politely as possible. “Excuse me, but Jazz, Bee and I are very worried about you. We’re happy you’re performing better – a very noticeable better, even – but we’re concerned you might be falling for the PAIT. The way you talk about Prowl, you make it sound like he’s any one of us.”

“I call him ‘my AI’.”

“The occasional phrase distinguishing him from us isn’t enough. Especially since you haven’t said it in a few orns, but you mentioned Prowl several times. We're starting to wonder if we'll need to do a search and rescue for you, buried deep in that PAIT.”

Jazz’s optic ridges furrowed as he considered the point. Bumblebee noticed the conflicted expression, between the furrowed ridges and pressed grimace, and offered a compromise. “How about this: you go talk to Prowl for the first quarter of recharge, and then meet us on our fav race track? Get some tips from him.”

He considered the compromise and their points, which he knew were valid concerns. He had them, too. The persistence was a difference between the tiny voice in his helm and the two friends voicing their worries. “Alright. I’ll meet you sometime between a quarter and half of the way through the recharge cycle. Depends on what Prowl has to say.”

Bumblebee looked to Mirage. “We can accept that, right Raj?”

“Certainly. Ping us with a communication invite when you arrive at the track.”

“Alright, will do.”

Ten breems later Jazz was crossing into his virtual apartment. “Looks complete,” he said to the mech in deep concentration over a Praxian crystal planter box, examining the one inside the window. The window was open, showing a light-pollution-free starry night over Praxus (as the time in Praxus would be now). The outside window ridge had more crystals, much bigger in size.

Prowl finished the window two orns earlier, after Jazz approved the design. It was obviously the most important feature to him, from the crystals and skyline, to the view looking down. Though Prowl professed of having no knowledge if the view existed from any apartment window, the downward view showed the Enforcers headquarters, with tiny Enforcer-shapes moving in, out, and about the cultured entrances. There was even the occasional smell of burned tires coming through the window, which Prowl referred to as a normal smell of Enforcers hitting the ground in their alt mode _hard_ at the call of an emergency. Jazz considered it a strange addition but Prowl only looked lost when asked why it was added.

When Jazz praised the apartment’s appearance Prowl’s doorwings perked up. He didn’t move to address Jazz until he placed the crystal in his hand safely in its place. When he straightened his posture he looked about the apartment. “I finished moving the objects as we agreed a little bit ago.”

The walls were painted blue and purple shades, black dancing silhouettes, and white musical notes. If the lights were turned off, the ceiling would glitter like a club. Jazz wasn’t expecting it since they “argued” over Jazz getting _one_ wall for a mural, but Prowl asked Grapple about ideas for a vibrant personality like Jazz’s. The design instantly earned a hardy approval from Jazz, and Prowl chuckled, saying that there was an option to turn everything completely cream-colored if getting Jazz’s attention was an issue.

Most of Jazz’s CR objects were moved into this room and arranged functionally. Prowl grouped them by purposed, arranging them on shelves by size and use. Prowl had one object, a new acquisition for catching a prolific game cheater several orns before. He didn’t mind the weighted feel of the apartment’s presence, only asking to control its window. He also controlled a corner of the wall opposite of the berth was designed like a private lecture spot, complete with a wall-mounted stack of “Q & A” forms.

Jazz’s optics lingered on the stack. “There’s a few objects here we didn’t agree on,” he joked.

Prowl’s optics followed Jazz’s line of vision, as he learned from the way Jazz moved his helm for calling out the sights. When Prowl pointed out two deca-orns ago during a sniper game how he deduced Jazz’s optic movements behind the visor, it got him praise and almost a hug. Prowl dematerialized before Jazz could finish closing his arms, and by the time the pink-faced Praxian rematerialized, Jazz was laughing on the ground. The Polyhexian told him not to worry about it, that any discomfort was mollified by the humor of nearly crashing helm-first into a sharp-shooting post. Prowl never responded because they were “fatally” shot by enemy fire, which Jazz claimed was Prowl's fault for rematerializing standing.

“There’s a few object we haven’t discussed, either at all or in full. For example, we haven’t fully discussed the single berth here.” Prowl’s doorwings twitched faintly when Jazz’s attention focused on him entirely, but his fingers were lightly tapping the air with anxious movements. “I know you wouldn’t need it for recharge, but it is a large berth capable of several accommodations.” Prowl’s right ped rocked but his posture remained stiff. “I was thinking that maybe we could _not_ follow the contract’s written purpose…? More than just a shared studio apartment.”

A full grin bloomed on the Polyhexian's face. "If I hug you, do you promise to not dematerialize?"

"I promise to do my best."

Jazz leaned slowly into Prowl's personal space until he wrapped his arms around the cool mech.  Prowl grasped Jazz's low elbows, giving them a tentative but friendly squeeze. The leaning mech slowly backed off, asking, "Did you have something in mind?"

"Well, I thought perhaps we might try a control exercise for you. I noticed some of your objects that came from your own 'private party' simulation."

"You're talking the bondage stuff?" Jazz smirked at Prowl's chosen wording. "I didn't think about what was in the end tables when I imported them. Hopefully nothing that threw you off too much?"

"No, I've seen what's on the Concubitus. Sometimes the games on that server has cheaters. A few hunts there taught me just how far or inventive mechs are willing to go for an overload. Your supplies are rather bland in comparison."

“I’m not sure how to take that. You complaining?" Jazz's teasing only increased for the typically reserved mech. Images surrounding getting tied up by an Enforcer was distracting him, so his efforts to keep their conversation relaxed were strained.

Prowl shook his helm. "I know of a reward-punish setup that I could easily manipulate while you focus. I took the liberty of installing a few hooks on the ceiling above the berth. You aren't opposed to PNP interfacing so early into our exploration?"

"I'm up for your challenge," Jazz seductively answered the question over plug-n-play interfacing.

Soon Prowl had him comfortably kneeling on the berth, sitting on a pillow placed on his heels. The soft ribbons held him in place without strain, unless Jazz started fidgeting. A couple of suspended ropes would allow Prowl to tighten the ribbons if Jazz misbehaved.

Prowl sat in front of Jazz, as far away as his interface cable would allow once he unraveled it. His chin rested on his propped hands. "Our lecture will be on Enforcer culture views on bondage, comparing Praxian to general planetary-wide practices."

Jazz's audios, optics, and visor fast rebooted. "What?"

"I said this would be an exercise in control. Unless you would rather use the typical Q&A format?" he tilted his helm at the Lecture corner. "You get a question right and I'll send you a charged data pulse. You get it wrong and I'll tighten a set of ribbons."

A small laugh escaped Jazz’s vocalizer, caught somewhere between nervous and excited. "I think I can handle this better than a lecture quiz."

|···|

A beep interrupted Jazz's cozy state, wrapped around Prowl. His own temperature warmed up Prowl and the Enforcer started dozing off. Jazz hadn't seen Prowl in standby mode before, his only hint was Prowl murmuring that the “retaliation” input from Jazz during their game and then from his warm engine was "plentiful."

Jazz groaned and facepalmed. He detached himself from Prowl and started leaving to his CR door when Prowl stirred. The Enforcer owlishly cycled his optics in Jazz’s direction. "Is your recharge cycle being interrupted? It shouldn't be entirely over yet."

"No, but I promised Bee and Raj I'd spend half the recharge cycle with them. I'm already _so_ late." Jazz also hadn't told Prowl yet about the training firmed date, but he could do that the next time.

Prowl's optics dimmed. "I see. I'm flattered that you spent time with me, but I would have understood if you told me earlier about your commitment. Treasure all relationships."

Jazz backtracked and purred his engine when he gave Prowl a peck. "I do, but uou made the moment hard to resist."

Prowl hummed, a little distracted. "Before you leave, may I make a request?"

"Sure."

"I'd like to have a visitor; another mech like me, named Red Alert. Would you be willing to send him an invite for now until your next recharge cycle?"

"Sure. What's his system ID?" From previous conversations, Jazz took "mechs like me" to mean AIs so advance and mech-like that they had (among other things) the same social needs of a real mech. This was only the second time Prowl asked for a visitor, but previous conversations made it easy to infer the meaning.

He received a ping, followed by a lengthy description. Prowl explained, "He's part of administrative security and tends to be paranoid. Well, 'tends' might be too soft of a word, but you likely won't meet him so it’s irrelevant. I'd still like to talk to him, so please send that exact description with the invite. It should help his default distrust issues. He thinks everyone is a hacker."

Jazz did as asked but his curiosity couldn't be entirely held back. "Sounds like disruptive paranoia. Was it an AI glitch from the start or later developed?"

"It's complicated," Prowl said uneasily, "but time has exasperated his issues. You should leave now and apologize to your friends."

"Yeah, I better. See you later!" Jazz departed through the CR door.

|···|

Mirage and Bee hadn't been happy with him, but they stressed they were more concerned than angry. They pointed out that the social mech hadn't been socializing normally for too long now. Finally they came to a compromise: Jazz would give them a code to access his private server for the next few orns. If he didn't meet them at a predestinated spot before the halfway mark each recharge, they'd barge into his server. Given the new development with Prowl, Jazz definitely didn't want to risk that discomforting first-time meeting between the "Somnus-controlled mech" and his teammates. Especially since he didn't tell them about the new developments. Their reactions would be obvious.

Jazz didn't want to waste his half-cycles with Prowl working on preparing for the training exercise he was already practicing with Ultra Magnus’s appointed instructors. So for the remaining four orns, his half-cycles were filled with more intimate fun with Prowl. All he told Prowl was that he was making amends with his friends for nearly missing their plans by giving the four half-cycles, rather than let him know about his friends' concerns. Prowl’s encouragement was endearing.

When the end of the fourth half-cycle neared Jazz finally broke the news to Prowl. They were laying together, Jazz wrapped around Prowl and enjoying that he had a pleasant solution to the mech’s low temperatures without having to ask the system to modify him.

“Prowl, I need to tell you something,” he whispered in the mech’s audio, knowing it didn’t take much now to pull Prowl out of standby mode.

As predicted, Prowl stirred, but instead of untangling himself to sit up he chose to flip over inside of Jazz’s arms. “Yes?”

“Tomorrow is that scout training session.”

The Praxian’s optics lowered but he nodded. “Do you feel adequately prepared? You and I have deviated these past five orns.”

“Don’t worry,” Jazz soothed while nuzzling the top center of Prowl’s chevron, “Magnus’s instructors have been on top of that. Looks like it’s a pretty big deal, but not make-or-break a career big.”

“I should have been helping you,” Prowl quietly countered.

“I wanted to spend time with you having fun, to break up the grueling training drills.”

Prowl tried protesting again but Jazz decided on ending the small argument by tightening his arms until Prowl settled down. When there was only 2 breems left before he was due to meet his friends, Jazz gave one last squeeze and pulled himself free. “Be seeing you. I’ll come at my normal time in four recharge cycles, so just stay on standby until then. No need to wait around bored.”

“Perhaps you can send Red Alert an invite for me until then? I’m finding trusted companionship even when doing nothing pleasant.”

Jazz gave him a deep kiss. “You mean you want a warm body to cuddle in standby?”

“Red is the same temperature as me, but the companionship would be beneficial. I don’t have much I can do here, but Red usually has plenty of open security matters for me to assist with the planning.”

“Interesting. I gotta go. Take care, don’t let yourself get lonely or bored.”

“I’ll try.”


	6. Chapter 6

A silver-painted Jazz stood by several politicians in ornate festival paint, playing his appointed role as a senator’s aid. None of the senators in the training simulation were derived from actual senators from the real world, but this one was just as tedious as a few he knew. Whenever he felt his attention drift he’d picture Prowl asking him questions about the discussions around him, and recalling Prowl’s rewards when answered correctly was enough to keep him on task. Perhaps a cheat, but one that worked well.

A teal-colored aid from another politician casually approached Jazz, two energon treats in hand. “This festival is starting on the right path; wouldn’t you agree?”

Jazz bowed his helm. “I’m a new aid so I don’t know, Sir…?”

“Back Shift.” The aid handed Jazz one of the treats. “And you are?”

“My legal name is Ply, and I believe these events tend to rely on such details?” his disarming smile and open-palmed indication to the populated room played into his role of a friendly newbie.

Back Shift smiled back. “If your senator is willing to free you for a joor or two, perhaps I can take you on a tour of the festival’s art section of my city-state, Tarn?”

The lack of inquiry on “legal name” distinction always generated a little internal smugness for Jazz. A standard phrase for him, because as a social mech there was also the chance of someone calling him “Jazz” during risky times. Even with avatars or frame modifications. Here, in a training session on the Acies server, the chances were remote but it was good practice.

The two walked around, Jazz scanning behind his visor. Bumblebee, masquerading as a buffet attendant, would have his optics on Jazz’s senator. Even if he had to move or lose sight, there were the other two teams. Bee’s upbeat attitude with the other scouts made it plenty easy to work with them and their teams.

Mirage was out scouting the area for security weaknesses or questionable arrivals. The team scouts were supposed to take the lead for this simulated mission, void of all support and officer guidance. Each scout was to demonstrate their ability to understand the different roles that made up a mission. Right now they were securing the perimeter and inner hallways, although Bumblebee was observing the mechs interactions amongst themselves. Jazz was his main support for social anomalies and they were both building baselines.

Jazz toured the Tarn displays for a little over a joor, learning about Tarn and its aids, before kindly excusing himself to attend to his senator. Soon the festival’s opening keynote speaker would be calling for attention and Bumblebee needed help determining which politicians grouped together.

Calling out groupings and movement patterns to Bee over their secured line was easy. Masked observations and breaking down target behavioral tendencies was one of Jazz’s strengths. Mirage took to the back, his posh royal-red, gold-trimmed Towers look fitting right in with the politicians who disliked close proximities of others. He provided information on the few leaders behind Jazz.

By the evening nothing happened and Bumblebee’s team met a scout named Hound and his main supporter, while Hound’s other teammates and Trailbreaker’s team covered their duties. Hound’s team would be taking first night watch.

“Alright,” Bumblebee ex-vented as he sat back. “So Raj will sneak out a joor before breakfast to meet Hound. Hound will debrief Raj, then at breakfast turn over watch duties to my team. We’ll stay until the first afternoon break, where one of Trailbreaker’s teammates will meet up with Jazz for the handoff. We’ll come back when it’s time for the senators to retire for the evening. Aside from needing a name from Trailbreaker for Jazz, does that sound like enough to at least make it to the breakfast handoff?”

Hound’s main support looked to the green scout, a mech Jazz recognized as Bluestreak. “Where are we after we get our recharge?” True to a quality simulation, they would need recharge for maintaining heightened alert during operation. The difference was they’d be on a dummy-Somnus server, with limited options for fun.

Hound answered, “At breakfast we’ll be meeting up and deciding on when and where to provide coverage, based on what happens the first night. I’ll continue my night-guard as groundskeeper while the rest of my team covers the building. Blue, since you’ll have the best chance of observing movement patterns from your high exterior advantage point, I’ll need you to record as much as you can. Remember to keep it to a list format, _not_ paragraphs. Twenty words per list point, max, but you can record as many list items as you want.”

“But still sort them based on information type, right?” Something in Bluestreak’s off-put tone said “type” didn’t necessarily meaning grouped by type of military matters.

Hound offered a half-smile in reassurance. “Training means always improving. You can do it.”

Blue smiled back. “Right.”

When the two teams settled on a plan to make it at least to breakfast, and Hound promised to have a name from Trailbreaker by the time he met with Mirage, Bumblebee’s team moved to their assigned rooms and logged directly onto a racetrack. There was no need for CRs.

Mirage was the first to comment, “It might be a shortened recharge cycle, but for once we’ll have all of Jazz’s time.”

“Ha ha,” Jazz snickered. “Maybe I’ll badly beat you on the track for that one.”

“If that happens, it’s only because of all this ornate decorations slowing me down.”

“Then change avatars. The administrators’ envisioned inception for recharge-within-recharge was supposed to play out like regular Somnus activities. Just with a lot less options.”

“We don’t even have CRs.”

Jazz shrugged. “Next software blockpoint roll?”

Bumblebee shook his helm. “I hope not. Jazz will try bringing in his private servers if he has a CR.”

“I can’t hack the Acies.”

“Yet.”

“I’m not going to try,” Jazz rejected the idea. He might be developing the skills to one orn hack military servers, but he wouldn’t hack his own military. “They automatically try a soldier for treason if they get caught, and Acies has some of the best administrators. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had hacker and cheater catchers like Prowl.”

At the mention of the name, both mechs uniformly groaned. Bee complained, “You always have Prowl on the mind. You talk more _about_ him than you talk _to_ me, and we live together!”

Jazz shrugged helplessly. Somehow that was the wrong move because Bumblebee gasped and jabbed an accusing finger at the saboteur-in-training. “Don’t tell me you’re living with an AI.”

“You can’t _live_ in Somnus.”

Mirage let out a low, drawn-out hiss. “You are officially caught in the PAIT. I could understand if you had someone from Polyhex that you pretend-lived-with on your private server, but an AI? Jazz, I’ve known Tower mechs that fall for their private AIs on private servers. I say ‘known’ because it never ends well. One of my closest friends told everyone he was going on vacation to Iacon, only for us to discover he let himself starve to death in his room because he got caught up in Somnus. They think he turned off his alerts and automatic safety disconnect because he wanted it to seem as real as possible.”

“Oh…” Jazz’s visor dimmed and he looked down. “I didn’t know you lost someone to PAIT,” he winced.

“Not really something desirable to relive. There’s no issue here and now, right? Let’s race until we’re bored and then see what else there is on this simplified virtual reality system. Get Jazz to properly detox.”

|···|

By the end of the third orn, near time for Jazz’s team to prepare for debriefs, nothing had happened in the training simulation. The scouts were doing an impressive job of combining through the information and highlighting suspicion, dispatching their teammates to investigate based on their skills. Little of it was an actual scout’s job, but that was a big reason behind the training simulation. The scouts were learning how the pieces fit together by acting each part, including tactical, leadership, security, and a few miscellaneous roles.

Jazz was both impressed with himself and frustrated. He was doing well because of his improvements thanks largely to Prowl, which frustrated him to not see Prowl, and then that made him feel guilty because of Mirage’s admission of loosing someone over a _perceived_ similar matter.

Bumblebee, Hound, and Trailbreaker were in a private room down in the basement, pouring over everything they could find to see if they could make it through the departure brunch tomorrow. Their teams were doing their rounds to make sure all exits were secured and the politicians made it to their quarters.

After Jazz’s senator was settled, and Jazz assisted with the Tarn representatives, he headed back to the main room. When Jazz passed a far-casting shadow, he heard a soft whirl. An untrained mech might chalk it up to being part of the air scrubbers, but Jazz knew it was the sound of a cloaking device deactivating.

Mirage looked as annoyed as Jazz had ever seen in a Towers mech. “What happened?”

“Hound gave me an order.”

“What’d Bee say?”

“That trust between teams was good so I shouldn’t make a big deal out of it.”

“What was the order?”

Mirage’s face scrunched. “In about ten breems I’m supposed to join him in the gardens to investigate something he noticed. Since he’s pretending to be a groundskeeper, we’ll pretend he’s asking me for advice on how to incorporate something from the Towers. If needed, I can disappear around a corner and silently investigate while he keeps watch.”

Jazz scanned their surroundings again but he found nothing requiring their conversation to cease. “Is the problem that someone you don’t really know gave you an order, or do you not like him?”

“He’s someone I don’t know.”

“Sounds like he knows Towers stuff, at least enough to fake a cover story, so there’s your common ground. Make friends, Raj.”

“I have friends.”

“You have _two_ friends, unless you suddenly started the convoluted social networkings of the Towers. Most of those are mechs you only catch up with on Somnus, and only when Bee and I are busy. Everyone else in Kaon is your friend by extension of being friends with us.”

The noblemech’s shoulders hunched forward in what was as much as a tantrum as he ever showed. He straightened his posture and muttered. “Fine, I’ll try.”

“Damn straight you’ll try. If I’m trying to reduce my need for Prowl, at least beyond an instructional role, you’ll reduce your big personal space bubble. Now get going.” Jazz good-naturally pushed the mech towards the open side exit.

Jazz spent the next forty breems doing his aid walk, which was verifying all the morning details for his senator. He was three steps into walking back and turning in the information to Bee when Mirage sounded the alarm. ::Back Shift is leaving the gardens with an unknown hostile. Tank treads, grey-colored, holding a gun. Sending map now, will keep up with him as long as my cloaking device allows.::

Hound added, ::We can’t verify if Shift is an accomplice or a hostage. Treat as hostage until verified.::

Before Hound finished Jazz had the map in his HUD and leisurely rounded a pillar towards the gardens, keeping calm and reminding himself to treat this simulation as if it were real. No fake-suicides, no running around the other aids like a discovered agent.

As soon as he was clear of all observers he took off running at full speed, keeping his steps so light that one would mistake him as never touching ground. His path zigzagged, Bluestreak populating the shared map with the locations of all civilians he could see from his perch. He couldn’t get a clear shot of the hostile.

Mirage kept the red dot’s path updated as best as possible, following the target at enough distance to avoid startling the armed mech. His distance prevented him from telling anything more about Back Shift other than the hostile was holding his hand. Whether it was to guide him or drag him was unknown.

Hound was also in pursuit, but had the problem of maneuverability path restrictions without moving backwards first. Jazz was getting around the gardens, though, and kept his silver dot on the map updated so no one accidently tackled or shot him.

Mirage called, ::They’re almost to a side street.::

Jazz responded. ::If your dot is accurate, I should just beat them. I’m coming up from behind. Which hand is holding the gun?::

::His right hand. Looks like a short-range blaster, with a barrel large enough to shot wide-range ammo.::

::Make some noises. Force him to run backwards so I can come up behind him.::

When Jazz was very close to Mirage’s estimated enemy location, he rapidly dropped his speed with little noise. His motions were fluid, as he crouch-ran as low as possible. Tank mechs had trouble seeing below and behind on account of their sizable treads.

The two mechs crossed Jazz’s vision when they were almost right in his path, backing around an oversized Wilds tree. Jazz could hardly time it better if he tried, moving to attack without losing momentum. Before the armed mech could finish his visual scans of the joining walkways Jazz was on him, grabbing his gun arm as Jazz pulled it and himself up onto the tall mech’s back. The angle was extreme and with a twist his elbow snapped. Jazz pulled the gun free from the spasming hand and kicked him in the helm as he dismounted. “Both of you on the ground,” he ordered.

Mirage was the first to arrive on the scene, while the three scouts arrived within breems. Trailbreaker’s and Hound’s teams maintained surveillance in case of another attempt. Bumblebee ordered, “Jazz, Mirage, take over for Hound’s garden sweeps. We’ll question Back Shift.”

“You got it,” Jazz agreed as he handed the nearest scout, Trailbreaker, the gun.


	7. Chapter 7

The trio sat in Ultra Magnus’s office, waiting for the officer to finalize his marks. “Congratulations on a job well done,” he said as soon as he added his last signature. “We had six other sets of three scout teams running the same simulation, across Kaon and Iacon, and you’re the one ones who didn’t harm the hostage. You all will receive high marks from me and several commanders who reviewed your performances.”

Jazz’s world was practically singing as he listened to Ultra Magnus for once having almost nothing negative to say about the team’s performance, even pointing out High Command’s admiration at Jazz’s significant improvement.

All praises came to an end, but not with disappointment. “As a reward for your success, you and the other two teams will be given a deca-orn of leave. Don’t do anything during your leave to make Command regret it. Dismissed.”

Bumblebee was the first to holler when they were far enough from the officer’s hallway to avoid trouble. “I never thought I’d get _all_ high marks for this, from start to finish! I was so bad at interrogation of Back Shift. Lucky that Trailbreaker had training in tactics and was able to question him right. We have to celebrate!”

Jazz grinned and concurred. “Bars, clubs, and getting so buzzed that plugging into Somnus will be a feat of coordination?”

Mirage coolly asked, “Will Hound’s team join us?”

Bee smirked. “Perhaps. Got a reason, Raj?”

“Our conversation about Towers art was rudely interrupted by a gun-toting idiot. I’d like to finish it.”

“I’ll ping Hound and Breaker with our first bar’s location. Where should we start?”

Many joors later Jazz and Bumblebee stumbled into their room, Mirage somewhere behind them. The Towers mech got so overcharged on high-grade, starting when he challenged Hound to prove his knowledge on Tower-grade drinks. In Jazz’s mind, somewhere amidst the muddle thoughts, he felt that Mirage deserved it. After a few drinks Mirage bought 3 bottles so each team had one, completely forgetting to warn the group the Tower-grade drinks were meant for social drinkers who frequented social events. It wasn’t meant for soldiers who didn’t get to regularly build a tolerance, nor ones used to gulping down Kaon rough-distilled high-grade.

Clearly the stumbling Mirage didn’t consider how time had undone his own tolerance, either, and they weren’t about to let him go home alone. It’s just that neither Jazz nor Bumblebee where in any shape to move him. Instead, Bluestreak was the one bringing Mirage to their quarters because the sniper was the most sober member of the group – which they only measured by how well he could walk a straight line. The fact was more of a chevron-shaped line instead of a squiggle was close enough.

By the time Jazz and Bumblebee were on their own berths, Blue had Mirage on a cot by the spare visitor recharge ports. Blue looked at the door and his engine whined.

Jazz chuckled and said (or thought he said), “You can recharge here, Blue. There are two spare recharge ports, for single guests per roommie.”

“Yay,” the Praxian ex-vented with gratitude, understanding enough of what was said. “Move over, Raj.”

Bumblebee started laughing at Bluestreak pushing Mirage. He pointed out, his words incredibly slurred, “There’s another cot under my berth. Don’t think I can grab it without falling, but you can if you want, Blue. Good thing Command’s not around. We’re so violating Mag’s orders.”

“Is called ‘cautioned advice,’ Bee,” Jazz laughed. “No one here in the barracks saw us, or heard Raj fall.”

Mirage muttered something into the cot and reached for a recharge port.

Jazz couldn’t stop grinning and flopped down into his berth. “Night, all. Gonna thank Prowl now. Dun think I been even tipsy around him before, let alone this drunk. _Thanks_ , Raj.” Oh, the fun Jazz was going to have.

Before Jazz could drop into recharge Bumblebee’s voice loudly piped up, too intoxicated for better volume control. “Not happening, Jazz.”

The Polyhexian freezed and looked at him. “What?”

“Mirage had one of his Tower friends put locks on your private server. Didn’t know they could do that; something about rented private servers being often physically located in the Towers. Guess Raj’s friend lost the same friend to ‘starvation by Somnus’ fate, so he was willing to hack the server for Raj. You aren’t getting into your server space. For a deca-orn. Raj told his friend to make sure you took the deca-orn off.”

Jazz bolted straight up. “What?!” he repeated, feeling the edge of panicked sobriety make a reappearance.

Mirage started talking but he was still face-down on the cot. Jazz used his peds to push  Mirage onto his back. He ended partially on Bluestreak, but the Praxian used his doorwing to flick Mirage until the spy moved.

Mirage finally got his incoherent thoughts back together when Jazz kicked him in the shoulder. “Wasn’t going to let you crawl back into the PAIT. It’s just a deca-orn. Detox in a game, visit foreign world, or go to the Concubitus server and let someone ‘detox’ you.”

Jazz was fuming by the end of Mirage’s seductive suggestion but didn’t waste time. He immediately dropped into recharge and found himself unsteadily standing in his CR, the state of his processor translating over into recharge. He pivoted on heel, a slight flail to his arms, and looked at his private server door. It was plastered in locks.

“No,” Jazz moaned, approaching and leaning against the door to study the locks. They were objects representing the code patches covering his only access point to the server. Maybe he could send himself an invite, like he did for Red Alert? How does one send themselves a code to a locked out server? Or was it totally locked out, even to invite codes?

Jazz’s inebriated state made thinking difficult and he pawed at the locks, trying hard to think how to hack them. It was just so hard to focus with high-grade pumping through his frame, regardless where his conscious was active. His distress wasn’t helping his focus, either.

Jazz logged off and yanked himself free of the cable. He slipped from his berth onto his knees by Mirage. “Get him to take them off!”

“No,” Mirage refused, his optics looking nowhere near Jazz’s face. “It’s for your own good. Socialize with real mechs for a deca-orn. We got a deca-orn off, so take the deca-orn _really_ off. No orders, no traps, no problems. Just proper socializing. Though I may have erred on setting the socializing up correctly this time.” Mirage’s optics went dark as he initiated recharge.

Jazz tried shaking him but the lump of drunkenness wouldn’t wake. His shaking did rouse Bluestreak. “What’s going on?” he asked as he peered over his shoulder and doorwing.

Jazz shook his helm and looked at Bee, seeing the same dark optics. “Think Raj got me drunk on purpose. Maybe he didn’t mean this drunk, but think he wanted me away from recharge and outta my mind enough to not figure out the hacks on my private server.”

Bluestreak’s optics narrowed in concern, matching a tiny frown. “I think the community washracks and oil baths are empty this time of night. You look like you could use an oil bath. I can help you there.”

He knew recharge was out of the question and as much as he wanted to punch Raj, he knew he wouldn’t. He still needed to get away from his so-called friends. “Okay.”

Bluestreak helped Jazz get his peds under him and the two walked to the oil bath, four hallways away from Jazz’s quarters. When they got into the bath Bluestreak bobbed around a little to find the warmest spot for a bath meant for ten mechs his size. When he found it he settled so his doorwings were almost fully submerged.

He looked around and found a despondent Jazz. “So what’s going on?”

“They don’t want me to see Prowl,” he growled into the oil.

“Who’s Prowl?”

Jazz huffed, unable to angrily ex-vent in liquid. He told Blue all the key points, starting from his troubles with his superiors, including Clamp Down’s exit, and ended only when he got to his teammates’ revelations.

Save a few wordy questions, Bluestreak quietly listened the whole time. When Jazz ended his regaling of his friends’ backstabbing the sniper finally spoke. “I thought AIs went on automatic standby when there wasn’t a mech around. No reason for Somnus – or any virtual reality system, really – to use up data and buffering if there’s no one there.”

“Yeah, but Prowl doesn’t. Not automatically. It seems that the more advance the AI, the harder it is for it to go instantly in standby. If I didn’t know better, the few times I witnessed Prowl in standby mode is was more like a mech recharging, worn out by the – ah – preceding activities.”

Blue chuckled and gave him a knowing look. “I’m not one for judging what a mech does with his AI, but I get the fear Raj and Bee are worried about. It’s not like death-by-excessive-recharge is an epidemic, but losing anyone who meant something leaves a lasting impact. I’ve been pretty lucky about not losing anyone I know, but I see a lot as a sniper.”

Jazz started to protest Bluestreak’s point but the Praxian had another point to make. “It’s been four nights, right? Prowl’s probably been on standby mode since about the time you left.”

“He had a friend over and he should be waiting for me now.”

Bluestreak’s doorwings twitched, sending little ripples. “They have friends?”

“Yeah, I guess. I don’t know, whatever,” Jazz waved off the matter. That was sober mech talk. “He’s waiting for me. Has been for a few joors now.”

“Does he come out of standby easy?”

“Very.”

“Then he’s probably on standby now since it’s no loss to come out of it. Whether you go now or in a deca-orn will make no difference to an inactive AI, high intelligence or not,” Blue pointed out. “But it _will_ make all the difference in the world to Raj and Bee. Give them a deca-orn of going all out with them, both in Kaon and on Somnus. Well, go all out as possible in a military-occupied city-state while you’re on leave. Maybe take a trip outta here. Take Mirage to the Towers and tease him around the other Tower mechs for not holding his hometown energon. Then, on your last night before leave is up, tell them that you need Prowl to get you back into shape ASAP. They’ll be both so relieved that you’re okay and so worried that your old issues are back that they’ll probably let you be with Prowl for awhile.”

Jazz considered the idea carefully. Walking past the server door would be painful, but he could always guilt Mirage into buying a tapestry to cover it. Actually, he could buy one tonight and then have Mirage reimburse him. He’d have to recharge soon with a full defrag, or the processor ache would be something fierce.

“You’re right,” he reluctantly agreed, ex-venting slowly through the two vents not submerged. “Besides, it’s been a while since I was the carefree partying, dancing musician. Maybe it will do me a world of good to get out and tour other places, real and virtual.”

|···|

Jazz started and ended his leave almost exactly how Bluestreak suggested. After he got two giant Polyhexian tapestries and a new high-rise window, which Mirage offered to reimburse before Jazz even finished telling him about the purchases, the trio went to the Towers. They didn’t tease Mirage too terribly, and only around the few mechs Jazz called “genuine.” He never got an answer about whether or not any of them was the mech who locked out his server.

After a few orns they went to Iacon for Bumblebee, and then they went to Polyhex for Jazz. There was plenty of partying in each city, but each had its own flavor. The Towers was a lot of rich music and drinks too smooth to be trusted. Iacon was the upscale version of Kaon and Mirage spend the evenings bemoaning not be assigned to Iacon. If only Iacon needed an invisible spy. Jazz made a snarky point that if Mirage left the military, a corrupt Senator would likely love his services. Mirage nastily pointed out that being used without contributing to anything _good_ was why he joined the army.

All was fine by the time they arrived in Polyhex and Jazz showed them how to truly cut loose. Not only did he know the best places for insane fun, he also knew where the underground recharge dens were located. Some shut down after he left due to raids, but these dens allowed mechs to recharge to local, unauthorized servers. No governments monitored these servers, and they held everything from incomprehensible brutality to living other mechs’ lives. Jazz didn’t care for the brutality, but seeing how others lived fascinated him. Some just loaded their lives up for virtual living, while some allowed others to enter their CR and take over their frames. They stopped going when they started catching turmoil-filled rumors about “The Institute” and the dens.

Finally the tired but sated mechs arrived back in Kaon on the last inter-city train. At the end of the ride Jazz tactfully approached the subject of recharge and Prowl as Blue suggested. Both agreed that the Jazz they spent the deca-orn touring their old homes probably needed help being put back into military working order. Mirage confirmed that his friend removed all of the locks on Jazz’s private server.

So when Jazz curled up on his berth with a smile to enjoy a long recharge, he thought only of how Prowl would straighten him out as he confessed his sins. His spirits lifted even higher when he removed the tapestries and window covering the door, soaring when he saw no more locks.

“Prowl?” He called as soon as the door-crossing lag cleared, despite somehow lasting longer than he remembered. Tucked in tight in by the window and partway under the crystal planter box, knees pulled into his chest and doorwings pressed into his back, was Prowl. His face was mostly obscured by his knees. Jazz moved quickly, confused by what he saw. “Prowl?” Still no response or movement. This wasn’t a standby mode he’d ever seen before.

Jazz hooked his hands around the back of Prowl’s calves as he knelt in front of Prowl. He could see the frame quivering, the slight tremors detectable in his hands. Did his AI coding somehow corrupt while he was away, possibly from extended standby? “Prowl, is something wrong with your code? Do I need to have the system run a diagnostic on you?”

“Nooo…” was the muffled, shaky, and drawn out response. His body shook hard and then stilled. To Jazz it felt forced. Prowl whispered, “I’ll be okay.”

“You aren’t.” If only Jazz demanded that he see Prowl at least once during leave. Told Mirage that he needed to make sure his AI was properly maintained without anyone checking in on him. _Anything_ that would’ve given him at least a joor. Then he wouldn’t be missing his instructor right before reporting to Ultra Magnus, nor would he feel a deep wrongness from within his spark. “I need to activate the server’s diagnostic tools and see if it can quickly find out what’s wrong. It might be just a quick defrag, or – ”

“Please don’t!” The form tucked itself in tighter, squeezing Jazz’s fingers between Prowl’s thighs and calves.

Jazz winced but didn’t voice a complaint against the minor pain. He had confusing and more important concerns. “I’m worried something’s wrong with your programming. I can’t fix you myself. I’m not an AI expert.”

A violent tremor passed through the form. A ragged, pained voice whispered from the crack between his legs, “I’m not an AI. I am… was… a mech. A _real_ mech, and an Enforcer from Praxus.”


	8. Chapter 8

Jazz stared at the form in front of him. “What? How can you not be an AI?” He shook his helm. “I don’t understand. You always have been an AI. You said you were an AI.”

“No, you said it. I said ‘Somnus-controlled mech,’ because that’s what I now am. I couldn’t tell you the truth. I wasn’t certain what you’d do, since sometimes you lack control.” Prowl shook his helm, his forehelm still against his knees. “I could accept playing the part while you were here. Then suddenly you weren’t coming and I didn’t know why or if you’d back. The system automatically locked me out from leaving since you paid for nearly another mega-cycle. I couldn’t access your programs without your codes, so I couldn’t even run your simulations.” His helm tilted just a little so he could see Jazz’s visor. “Where were you?”

“Got leave for a job well done after that training mission. Friends locked me out, wanted me all to themselves and whatnot,” Jazz rattled off, not really caring about his previous adventures anymore. “What’s going on? How can you be a mech? What do you mean that my control issues were a problem? Or at least a deterrent from telling me.”

Prowl shifted his face down again, no longer looking Jazz in the optics. “I don’t know if I _am_ a mech anymore, only that I _was_ a mech; if I’m what the system labels as a Severed conscious or a Ghost conscious. I can’t find answers. All I know is I’m currently classified as ‘Lost’ by the system.”

When Prowl paused as another few tremors passed through his frame, Jazz tugged at his calves until he could loosen his fingers. He started massaging them, fighting the panic and denial constricting his spark. He wanted so badly to run off and dive helmfirst into the interface controls and get to the bottom of this. The only reason his peds were glued to the ground was because of Prowl’s claim about control.

Prowl started again when he managed to relax his frame somewhat. “My Enforcer team and a few others were investigating a major bomb-threat at Praxus’s most popular shopping center, during a key event. We were trying to discreetly usher shoppers and workers out, without the bomber any wiser about someone sending us an anonymous tip of his plans. We were supposed to have 2 more joors, enough time to find the bomber or clear the event. I don’t know if somewhere someone panicked, if we got caught, or if the information was faulty. There was a bright light, followed by severe agonizing pain, and then darkness.

“I found myself in an altered version of my CR with a virtual-reality hospice attendant. He explained to me that I’d been critically injured but I should be okay after long-term care. His job was to make sure my conscious was fully loaded into Somnus and to explain my situation. I’m not sure what the difference is between a ‘full upload’ and a normal recharge visit. Mostly what I understood was it would keep me from accidently waking up during the surgeries and healing processes.

“I asked him if my patrol partners or other Enforcers could visit me. He said my entire patrol team deactivated.” Another shutter, followed by a breem of silence. “I survived only because one of them landed on top of my chest and helm, taking enough of the blast’s shrapnel to barely save me. He said two other Enforcer teams suffered heavy casualties and numerous civilians were deactivated. If there were any Enforcers planning on visiting me, it would be a while. All public servant positions were stretched thin, but with such heavy losses the Enforcers couldn’t spare any time until everything was contained and reinforcements were situated.”

“I heard about that,” Jazz spoke quietly. “Kaon dispatched a patrol unit to assist, as well as several medics. If you really are a mech… Prowl, that was almost eight mega-orns ago.”

Prowl’s doorwings wilted. “I tried logging off and getting back into my body, but my CR didn’t do anything. Then one orn my CR completely disappeared. I tried borrowing other CRs but it didn’t work. I tried searching through the maze of servers and simulations to find someone I know, but there are so _many_ servers to search and I don’t know when my friends recharge anymore.

“Somnus classified me as ‘Lost’; someone who is either a Severed, a conscious wholly disconnected from its body, or a Ghost, a conscious that lingers in the system despite an extinguished spark. I don’t know if I exist out there or not, and neither does Somnus.”

Jazz’s spark lurched and he pulled his hands free of Prowl’s legs to loosely wrap his arms around the distraught mech. He murmured, trying to grasp what was happening, “But I asked for an AI capable of helping me.”

Prowl nodded and finally tilted his helm back up to look Jazz in the optics again. “Somnus is stressed so it’s constantly looking for solutions to reduce the strain. Mechs like me are some of the highest stressors because we don’t logoff. We are completely dependent on it. The system compensates by employing us in roles it would otherwise generate and maintain an AI. When you asked for an AI fitted to your needs, the system first searched for an existing Lost, Severed, or Ghost with at least a 90% match to the request. It found me and appointed it as my new duty instead of building you an AI.”

Jazz gasped and hugged Prowl before pushing him at arm’s length, forcing him to show his full face. “Why did you go along with pretending to be an AI?”

His optics dimmed further from an already low brightness. “For the same reason we all pretend to be AIs. We can’t afford to become a bigger strain on Somnus. When mechs find out about us, they tend to respond dramatically and burden the system. Hacks, investigations, new programs, and extended server congestion. When that happens, Somnus quickly diagnosis that we’re the source of the faults or invasions. It purges the root cause to cease all related problems.”

Prowl’s optics flickered. “I couldn’t tell you because I was afraid you’d do the same. If you put enough strain on the system because of me, the system will purge me. With your control issues and strong personality, I knew once you started that you wouldn’t stop. I shouldn’t even be telling you this, but I was so… there was no one here, no one to talk to, nothing of use I could do.”

Jazz moved his kneeling form to Prowl’s side and pulled him into his chest. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were an AI on standby whenever I left. I didn’t know you were a mech… quietly waiting – trapped – in this tiny room for me to come back whenever I felt like it.” Horror dawned on Jazz as he realized exactly how alone Prowl was while Jazz was out partying with his many friends.

“I know you didn’t know,” Prowl feebly offered. “Just please don’t tell anyone or do anything that’ll cause Somnus to tag me as bad code and eliminate me.”

Jazz hugged the mech tightly. “I promise.” He quietly held Prowl and the mech – a _real_ mech, a _trapped_ mech – stayed curled up for a little while until he slowly unfurrowed his body and leaned into Jazz.

The Polyhexian felt the coolness of Prowl’s frame as it sagged into his side. Keeping his voice low, he asked “Is the reason why you’re never warm because of being a Lost mech?”

Prowl nodded, his chevron moving just below Jazz’s chin. “Most of us are, the Somnus-controlled mechs. I don’t know how many of us there are, but we’re not nearly as few in numbers as you’d think.”

“I see. So when you said Red Alert was the same temperature as you?”

“He’s a Severed. He’s become so paranoid over it that he can’t trust anyone Somnus hasn’t labeled as being like him. Grapple is a Lost in deep denial.”

Jazz half-nodded, stopping at that chevron. Some of him was still in denial, telling him that this was an AI with the realism code run askew. The doubts bothered him and he picked up Prowl, carrying him the few steps to the berth. He placed Prowl down and the Praxian scouted over, lying down on his side. Jazz glanced back at the window, thinking about all the details he ignored as signs, figuring they were just further examples of an extremely intelligent AI.

Jazz curled up around Prowl, thinking deeply on what he overlooked at surface-level before now. “The burned tires smell?”

“Back in my patrol orns. I still did patrols, but for the non-routine, high-risk reports. I was a regular Enforcer given extra responsibilities in planning and assisting Bomb Squads with tactical support. They were planning on promoting me. Then everything just stopped. I tried finding a way to restart it, but it became so tiring. It was much easier to forget and live here, pretending I’m on vacation with someone important as I wait for the news.”

Jazz considered Prowl’s admissions, ignoring the tear in his spark over Prowl calling Jazz important to him to the point of building a false life around it. One Jazz wouldn’t have known if not for his deca-orn away hurting Prowl enough to confess.

If that were true about Prowl’s potential promotion, then there’d be data-trail of a preprogrammed mech outperforming his assigned role. City officials tended to be reluctant to move preprogrammed mechs around, worried about misaligning purpose with function. The data-trail would be hefty.

Jazz massaged Prowl’s doorwing joint carefully until the mech felt like he was almost in standby mode. Jazz was curious about what that meant now that he knew differently, but pushed back his questions for a more immediately important question. “I promise I won’t do anything to stress Somnus about you, but is it okay if I look for answers in the real world? Would you be willing to give me all the information you can think of?”

Prowl’s doorwings quivered. “So long as you don’t tell anyone who might do something to or on Somnus, then you can. I would like to know if I still exist out there.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Jazz, where you going?” Bumblebee asked while jogging over to the mech waiting at the inter-city train station, small bag hanging in hand. When he had Jazz’s attention he exclaimed, “Ultra Magnus is going to be angry with you!”

Jazz waited until Bee was by his side to explain. “I told Ultra Magnus I needed a few orns to visit a friend in a Parxian hospital. He might be dying. He’s giving me five orns.”

“Oh no, is it true? It’s not Blue, is it? I haven’t seen him yet, but he should be back now like us.”

Jazz grimaced. “No, it’s not Blue. I’m having a tough time getting confirmation on my friend.” Jazz glanced at the pocket holding the data-chip with everything he got from Prowl about what Prowl remembered being told by the hospice attendant. Jazz was running two checks: one on the Enforcers, one on the hospital. “The hospital won’t tell me what’s going on with him, if he’s alive or not, since I’m not family or an emergency contact. I tried other avenues of getting information, but I might be able to get answers faster at Praxus then learning their data-structure for hacking.” There was also a concern if he triggered an alert that they might investigate and overburden the system Prowl’s existence so precariously depended upon.

“Do you need someone to go with you? I could convince Ultra Magnus to let me at least escort you there in case it’s bad news.”

Jazz almost blurted out yes. He was afraid what he’d discover. He wanted to tell someone what he learned and how he couldn’t have his morning fuel because of that anxiety churning his tanks. Whenever he thought about finding out that Prowl’s spark no longer existed, he couldn’t stop his mind from playing out the conversation of him breaking the news to him in the apartment they built together.

Bumblebee could surely keep this under wraps, but that wasn’t enough of a reason to break his promise.  “Thanks, Bee, but it won’t look good for our group if we come back only to disrupt our duties. They’d consider us a field liability.”

Reluctantly nodding, Bumblebee bid him farewell. “Just be safe and send me an update when you know.”

“Okay. See you in five orns.”

The train arrived soon after Bumblebee departed and Jazz searched for the most private seat he could find in the back car. There was a lot of downloaded information (from sources _not_ linked to Somnus) for his investigation and he didn’t want anyone to oversee, nor notice him formulating plans that may or may not be entirely legal. The trip was half a orn, even without stops.

By the time his journey ended at the Praxus inter-city train hub, he still felt a bit shaky about his plans. For one, it lacked a fast way to manipulate the hospital from the inside, where he preferred. His Enforcer research showed that there indeed an Enforcer named Prowl, and he was under consideration for a promotion until the bomb attack. Jazz thought of going to Prowl’s precinct but he wasn’t certain what would happen. Especially if somehow he was wrong.

His backup plan was posing as some low-level hospice worker, with ID cards and passable knowledge on Praxian hospital protocols. That would take most of his five orns and he stopped seriously considering it when he found some medical thesis documents on Somnus and weakening sparks.

Time was more of an issue than he realized. His closest contacts for fake ID cards weren’t in Praxus, and it would likely take 2-3 orns to learn enough local hospital culture to discreetly pass through and avoid mistakes. How could he spend that time, patiently waiting and studying when he didn’t know if Prowl was dying? He couldn’t find material plain enough for him to understand on what happens to a spark when the conscious has been severed, only that it was worth being published over in notable medical journals.

Jazz took the public transportation to the North Star’s Light hospital, letting him focus on not skipping protocol and slip past reception, bypass security, and hide in the records room. He didn’t have the camera locations or security patrol routes.

Luckily with the time zone difference he only lost a third of the orn in Praxus instead of half. So when he reached the hospital’s steps he knew it was just after the main refuel break, and possibly the best chance to be on someone’s good graces.

He approached the circular desk in the center of the hospital’s main lobby, where a simple green-and-white mech worked. The green cross told Jazz that this mech was a member of the primary support staff’s for medics, and the old cross style said he was a seasoned one to boot. That could go either way for Jazz; the mech would be well practiced at following all the rules, but might have seen enough patients screwed over by totalitarian enforcement. His information on the North Star’s Light showed they were renowned for a few things, including being the most uptight hospital in Praxus.

“Hello, sir,” Jazz began. He gave the mech his warmest smile. The mech returned it and nodded at Jazz to continue. “I received a voicemail about a patient here and I have some information that might be critical to his doctors. Do you know where I might find Enforcer Prowl?”

“What’s your name?”

“My legal name? Stepper,” he said while showing his fake ID card. The middle-class mech associated with that unreported stolen ID card was a clean-living Iaconian government mech.

The mech took the ID card and ran it. “I’m sorry sir, but I don’t see any acceptable relationship between you and the individual in question. I need known family, legal representatives, or emergency contact ties, and the system shows none with that name.”

The mech offered an apologetic smile but slid a standard data-chip to him. “There’s an anonymous drop-off box by the west entry corridor, before you pass the Emergency Room. You can fill this chip with all the information, attach any files, and drop it off. A hospital worker usually picks up drop-offs every joor and has them processed within that joor. If Enforcer Prowl is still a patient here or somewhere in Praxus, the information will be uploaded for doctor review.”

Jazz smiled and took the chip, biting back his urge to call out the assumptions and risk. He left and started walking down the indicated hallway until he was out of the mech’s sight. He took the next exit and left, mentally cursing his options.

He didn’t actually have information he could provide without risking Prowl. If he had something he could trust for a doctor’s review – Jazz suddenly halted, causing the purple Praxian couple behind him to nearly crash. They muttered insults at him but he paid them no heed. Instead he inserted the data-chip in to his tablet and dropped some information on it about Prowl’s suspected allergy to a medication. He didn’t actually know if it that was true, having plucked it from his own medical history. He installed a tracer program on the chip and walked back through the entryway door.

Jazz dropped the chip off and checked the time. By the time a doctor would review it, he could finish a small energon drink. He left for the cafeteria and quickly selected a light mid-grade. After paying he sat in the corner and slowly nursed it while continuing to study as he waited for the alert.

About 2 joors later, Jazz knocked on the office door of doctor named Flatline. “Hello sir, may I have a moment of your time? I’m looking for someone who knows about an Enforcer named Prowl so that I might pass on sensitive information.”

The black-painted doctor looked up from his desk. Jazz studied him carefully, balancing a non-threatening body language with a pensive facial expression. All Jazz had to go on was his tracer programming being triggered when this doctor accessed Prowl’s information, and that his specialty was in building new bodies. Given that Prowl’s last knowledge included serious bodily damage, this doctor was one that likely worked on him. The concern Jazz had was _why_ a rebuilt specialist would look at the report, since any rebuild should have been completed long ago. He could think of only two reasons: this was the first available doctor with previous patient contact able to look at the report, or Prowl didn’t make it beyond the rebuild.

Flatline gave him a skeptical look. “You shouldn’t be here. If you are one of his recognized relationships, then there are better ways of accessing him. The receptionist in the main lobby can find you the right name for access.” Jazz fixated at him, keeping his visor at optic-level, while holding out a data-chip. Flatline sighed and took the chip. “What is this?”

“I have information on Prowl. He’s lost in Somnus and he can’t find a way out. He doesn’t know if his body still exists. I’ve encoded a few images on that chip to show you that I’ve seen him inside Somnus.”

Flatline ex-vented sharply but plugged in the chip. “That’s a serious situation, and an even more pressing implication. Do you know what you’re accusing this hospital of?”

“What? No. I don’t care; I’m just trying to find out if his spark still exists.”

Flatline looked at the images and a short video. “You’re accusing this hospital of gross negligence; of not properly handling his care when we had to transition him to a different department. True that these images show an Enforcer Prowl inside Somnus, but that doesn’t mean it’s actually him. It may be a program run amuck from someone who missed him. Perhaps another Enforcer.”

Flatline popped the chip back out and placed it on the far corner of his desk, close to Jazz. He placed a card next to the chip. “Schedule an appointment with the psychiatrist they brought in to handle the aftermath of the bomb attack. His name is Rong – sorry, I keep getting it wrong; his name is _Rung_. He can investigate if that program meets the markers of being a real mech or just an AI. The hospital will investigate based on his report. That’s your best chance.”

Jazz was stunned. “Can you at least tell me if Enforcer Prowl’s spark still exists?”

“I technically said too much by just saying we transitioned him to a different department. Goodbye, sir.”

Jazz caught himself rocking onto his toes, almost about to launch himself at the doctor and _demand_ answers. Protocols weren’t meant to outweigh the value of life, so why did he keep finding mechs that acted like it?

He ex-vented deeply and grabbed the chip and card. Neither this psychiatrist would be much help or his infiltration successful if he couldn’t come near the hospital after attacking one of their doctors.

He left while using his commlink to access the psychiatrist’s office. To his dismay, there were no openings for three orns. He scheduled an appointment and put in a request to be notified of any cancellations, but Jazz didn’t have much hope.

Was Prowl still alive? Would he hit this many brick walls over an extinguished spark? Was he moved to a different department because his spark was weak, or because he was a stable, comatose mech? Was Prowl just an AI designed too well for anyone’s good?


	10. Chapter 10

Different possibilities of Prowl’s state of existence and the hospital’s obtuse attitude plagued him as he thought about his different options of getting around the staff. Jazz knew he should be looking for a hotel but he wondered instead to the closest crystal garden. The orn wasn’t yet over enough to need a hotel, but some stupidly stubborn part of him didn’t want to look for a hotel. It was like surrendering this orn’s chances if he focused on himself. He should’ve booked a room on the train over here, but some part of him hoped he wouldn’t need it because he could stay at Prowl’s side. It was all stupid, really.

He sat down on the closest bench, a part of him wanting to yell at the absurdity of just trying to find out if Prowl was alive, let alone what he would say to the mech locked in limbo. ‘ _Keep it together. If you can’t get answers this orn, how do you get them tomorrow?_ ’

He pulled out his tablet and started swiping through the files, looking for evidence of the best disguise while running a trip planner to see his contacts without adding operation time losses. If need be, he’d rent a pleasurebot suite for a joor to recharge and talk to Prowl.

“Hello? Are you okay?” Jazz’s helm snapped up and he looked at a concerned mech, primarily white. “I’m Groove,” the mech identified himself with his hands up in a non-threatening manner. “The way you’re looking at your tablet, I thought maybe something serious happened. We’re close to a hospital, and I can help you if you’re not sure about making it on your own.”

“Thanks, but I just came from that hospital. I hit some frustration with the staff and I’m worried about my friend,” Jazz griped at the kind-looking mech.

“I’ve heard they have some uptight administrative controls there than can really kill a good doctor’s capabilities.”

“Yeah, well, their administrative controls could be killing more than a doctor’s capabilities,” Jazz growled.

Groove’s optic ridges furrowed in sharp concern. “I know someone who might be able to offer some insight.”

“That’d be great, but it’s also a really sensitive matter.” Jazz didn’t dare yet trust his fortune of a concerned stranger.

“He’s a doctor at different hospital training under a very skilled surgeon. You can meet him and decide if you want to trust him with the matter.”

“Alright, lead the way.”

Over a joor later, by drive through early traffic, Groove and Jazz were sitting in the office of one late First Aid. A doctor carrying a tablet and a few patient charts walked through the door, kicking it closed. “Sorry, Ratchet had a few items to hand off to me.”

“Ratchet?” Jazz asked. “I think I’ve heard of him. From Iacon, right?”

First Aid nodded as he settled in his desk. “He came here after the bomb attack and pulled up my internship to start ahead of schedule. There were a lot of injured mechs, but thankfully most are healed enough now that we won’t need to stay much longer. Groove said your name is Stepper?”

Jazz nodded, keeping up with what he told Groove while in traffic. “Yeah, I got a friend who’s in trouble. Problem is I met this friend on Somnus after he was hospitalized and he doesn’t know what happened to him. Last he knew he was at North Star’s Light Hospital. He doesn’t know who to talk to so I tried getting help from a doctor willing to listen, but I couldn’t find one.”

“Your friend is moving about Somnus? Is he unable to get back to his CR?”

“He tried but couldn’t logoff. Then his CR disappeared.”

“Hmm. It sounds like your friend was critically injured and the doctor’s couldn’t risk him waking up. There are several possibilities of why he can’t logoff. A disappearing CR is a new one for me.”

“That’s what some specialist told him, about why he was there. I tried tracking the virtual-reality hospice attendant who helped my friend with the initial transition. Unfortunately the specialist evidently works through the whole hospital network to make sure patients are properly uploaded and then downloaded, or whatever you doctors call it.” One of the items on Jazz’s list of hacks was to find out if the specialist was ever called back in for Prowl.

“If you’d like, I can submit an emergent request for investigation,” First Aid offered.

“No, see that’s the sensitive issue part.” Jazz deeply inhaled through his vents. “My friend has been like this for mega-orns and Somnus has labeled him as Lost; he’s a conscious either severed from his spark or without a spark. I can’t find out which. Apparently if the servers become too strained because of him, then he’ll be considered bad code and be automatically purged. An investigation might cause the servers to purge him before he can saved.”

First Aid’s optics dimmed. “I’ve heard of such concerned, but I have no skills in Somnus recovery. Ratchet, does, however. As a surgeon, he’s been trained to be capable of forcefully extracting a patient back out through the system and into their own body. Also the reverse. As far as I know, it’s a hypothetical training. If you’re okay with waiting here for a little while, I can bring Ratchet here after his rounds and we can talk some more.”

“You won’t tell anyone? My friend’s life is at risk.”

First Aid nodded. “I can’t tell anyone of a patient that I don’t know his name, condition, or state of physical existence. You have nothing to worry from me, or Groove.”

Groove also nodded. “I trust First Aid and Ratchet. I have to leave, but I promise to not do or say anything about this.”

“Thanks,” Jazz gave the pair an appreciative smile when they departed. He took the private time to go through First Aid’s office, which was clearly a loaner not meant for long-term visiting doctors. Once he finished that disappointing search he checked public and military files on the two medics. Both worked with the military but were not yet joined in the ranks. A promising start, at least.

Half-an-joor later the door opened, and suddenly Jazz could hear a grouchy voice in mid-complaint from the sound proofing barrier now broken. “The head nurse on that floor is an idiot. I don’t care if I’m not supposed to go to the backup head nurse; _he’s_ the one who deserves the title because he can do the responsibilities. Patients before egos, especially the egos of inept idiots who couldn’t file a complaint if the form arrived prefilled.” A medic passed through the door with First Aid right behind him, holding another set of charts. Jazz recognized him as Ratchet.

Ratchet looked at him. “Now who are you and what’s going on?”

“I’m Stepper and I’ve got a friend in need of a rescue from Somnus.”

Ratchet squinted his optics at him suspiciously. First Aid pushed the door closed while Ratchet asked for Jazz’s ID card. Ratchet glared at Jazz when he was done. “Stepper from Iacon has more gold then you. Plus I can easily get his comm. number from my contacts back home and call him within ten breems. _And_ as I recall, he’s too big of a pain for friends. Makes him an easy cover to steal, considering there’s not many people who’d know him – unless you’re a doctor who the government prefers to contract for medical services. But in case there actually is someone in need of help, I’m willing to give you one more chance. Who are you and what’s _really_ going on?”

Jazz quickly confessed the truth. “My name is Jazz and I’m from Kaon Security team with the military. I ask Somnus for an AI matching some key traits and got someone I thought was an AI. Then, last night he told me he was a real mech, Enforcer Prowl, and he’s been unable to access his body since the bomb attack. All he knows was his full conscious was uploaded at North Star’s Light Hospital because he was very critically injured. He doesn’t know if his spark still exists, and he’s afraid of Somnus purging him if the servers get stressed from an investigation. He said it’s an automated thing and could happen faster than anyone could act.”

Ratchet started cursing and grabbed First Aid’s chair, pounding away on the keyboard for the main monitor. First Aid waited until Ratchet’s cursing died down to mumbling. “Have you heard of such a thing? Somnus purging actual mechs?”

“Yes,” Ratchet growled. “I’m working on getting into the Praxian hospital network to find this Prowl. These loaner computers are such slag for network access. Somnus has trouble keeping up with supporting new sparks and the increasing number of simulations or uses, like rehab. These rebel uprisings are driving up medical needs for extended patient recharge. City-state governments are tying up the funding with slag on what they think Somnus needs, so it’s not as well maintained as a Cybertron-wide system needs. Because of that, sometimes Somnus purges itself of the biggest drains – whole mechs’ consciousness, which include low-level sub-routines that don’t show up when a mech normally logs into Somnus. Those that get the most attention cause more data demand, so they get purged first.”

First Aid frowned. “How have I – ”

“Ah hah! Here he is!” Ratchet interrupted with a jab at the monitor. He turned the monitor around and Jazz could see Prowl’s Enforcer photo, surrounded by a lot of medical-containing text. “Good news, he’s still alive.”

Jazz let out a huge ex-vent in relief. He was alive and that meant he wasn’t some extremely sophisticated AI. “Don’t relax yet, Jazz,” Ratchet cautioned. “North Star has him in a ward for sparks they expect to extinguish. It says here that his spark isn’t _too_ weak yet, but it’s far from strong. I can work with weak, though.”

“Will you have him transferred here?” he `nervously asked.

Ratchet scoffed. “I’m not wasting time on filing and organizing that, let alone dealing with the moronic administrative controls they have there. All hospitals in Praxus work on the same shift rotation, and I happen to have an ‘in’ at North Star who just started his shift. I’m off now, so let’s go. First Aid, you’re coming too. You need to see what this is and learn how to treat it. On our way I’ll give you the rundown of what I learned about this problem from my government contracts. You’d be surprised how many uptight Senators won’t stop talking about bills to their aids, even during a doctor’s appointment. It’s half the reason I put up with those so self-absorbed.”

Jazz leaped up from the chair and forced himself to remain quiet while following Ratchet, listening to the doctor as they drove to the hospital. He explained how a hospital can accidently break a fully uploaded conscious from a body/spark, and if the workers didn’t fess up to an improper patient processing, then doctors may write it off as numerous other possibilities. Only an investigation would tell exactly how Prowl was mistreated, neglected, and/or abandoned. If Prowl knew exactly when his Connection Room disappeared, he’d know when his connection to his body was broken.

Once there Ratchet took them to a wing in the far back. Jazz bemused, “We’re not going through the lobby?”

“Pit no. I don’t need to explain myself to someone behind a desk trying not to get in trouble with this hospital’s Board. We’re going through the Transformation wing to meet my contact. It’s where they work on transformation sequence issues and T-cogs.”

They went through a “Staff Only” door, with Ratchet walking like he owned the entire wing and didn’t have time for being questioned. Jazz and First Aid hurried behind him and avoided optic-contact with the confused staff, Jazz keeping between First Aid and the wall so he wouldn’t stand out. First Aid didn’t need to be told and angled his body and steps to block Jazz’s notably hospice-mark-lacking frame from view. It was a little tough to do while keeping up with Ratchet’s fast gait, but they managed.

Ratchet emerged in a room for multiple patients, with small holographic images of art providing both privacy partition and visual stimulation for the patients. “Pharma?” Ratchet called out.

A jet with a similar chevron style to Ratchet stepped out through a holographic divider. “Ratchet? It’s nice to see you, although a heads up is also nice.” His tone didn’t change despite the turn in his greeting words.

“I need help.” Ratchet pulled Pharma over to a supplies closet where only the two of them and Ratchet’s companions could listen. “There’s a patient here that I need a private room for.” Ratchet handed Pharma a data-chip. “Don’t ask questions. This will likely cause a government investigation, and the less they can ask you the better. Just have this patient transferred to a private room for T-cog evaluation. Say it’s to see if it’s capable of being used as a donor, should the spark extinguish.”

Pharma tapped his tablet lazily as he analyzed the chip’s contents. “So long as it doesn’t land back on me to do much more than say that, I’m fine. This is one well prepared chip. Won’t look too suspicious for me, at least.”

Jazz asked Ratchet, keeping his voice low. “What’s the chip say?”

“There’s some Enforcer with T-cog damage in Iacon that needs an Enforcer-grade replacement. We’re doing our part searching for a donor.”

“Is that actually true?”

Ratchet smirked. “It _was_. Looks like that slaggy computer didn’t quite pull up the data correct. Displayed the history in the wrong order, but I didn’t expect that because I’m just doing my part as an Iacon-government-loaned doctor, and I’m used to Iacon computers. Oh well.”

“You’re awesome,” Jazz grinned. He was awed a little about how well this doctor molded things his way without obviously breaking protocols, skillfully wielding the type of control Prowl was teaching him. Perhaps he could request his emergency field medic training to take place in Iacon.

“I just really hate slow hospital computers. My time for shaking down dumb mechs and scaring them straight is too precious for time wasted on slow connections. Maybe after the investigation they’ll finally upgrade the loaners.”

“Done,” Pharma stated as he handed the chip back. “I added you to the list of visiting doctors, with the addition of two trainees. I saw security poking their helm in here a moment ago. A couple of transporter workers should have him down within the joor. I’ve added the information on that chip. Take care, don’t bring up my name again while you do whatever.”

“See ya, Pharma.” Ratchet bid farewell as the jet slipped by the three and back to a T-cog patient.


	11. Chapter 11

The three made their way to the room, not too far down a different hall within the hospital section. Once inside, Ratchet gave Jazz a rundown on how to act like a hospice trainee, followed by explaining his plan in more detail.

The transporters brought in a body that looked identical to the Prowl he’d known, resting on a transportation berth. Jazz focused on playing it cool by not clutching the hard-sought body of his friend (for lack of a better term, given that he was still struggling that Prowl stopped being “his AI” only since last night). Once the transporters were gone, he did though, carefully avoiding the energon IV and monitor wires. He noticed that Prowl actually felt colder here and he buried his helm into Prowl’s chassis, realizing it was the sign of a spark too weak for his body’s systems to waste energy on temperature control.

“Enough of that,” Ratchet forced him from lingering on that fact. “Jazz, open two medical ports and hook up to the room’s backup recharge port.”

Jazz snapped the covers back for a medical port in each arm as he hooked himself up through his neck to enter Somnus. First Aid and Ratchet both connected to him. Jazz asked, “What am I supposed to tell Prowl when you two show up with me?”

“To stay calm and that Somnus will barely notice us both as we’re going through you to locate him. I’ll take over after that.”

Jazz nodded and settled down in one of the chairs they arranged. He initiated recharge and soon found himself in his CR. Glancing to his sides he saw both medics. After a grouchy and a tiny bit snarky comment from Ratchet Jazz walked them through his private door.

“Prowl?” Jazz called out as he finished loading into the room.

“Jazz!” Prowl scrambled away from the window, where he was perched on a chair looking down. He moved to approach but stopped short when two more mechs appeared. “Jazz…?”

“Relax, you’re okay,” Jazz soothed. He closed the distance and took Prowl’s hand and held it as the weary Enforcer’s optics darted between the three. “They’re connecting through me to get here. I guess medical personnel have a lot more administrative privileges when they do that. Ratchet here knows what’s going on and can talk to you about it. Prowl,” he called his name with a tight squeeze, forcing Prowl’s optics back to him, “we’re all at the hospital. We’re by your body.”

Prowl’s entire frame almost collapsed as relief cascaded through his systems. “I’m still alive?”

“I’m Ratchet,” said the doctor with the chevron. “Yes, you’re alive but your spark is weak. I can get you reconnected to your body and then guide you into re-synchronizing with it. First Aid here is also a doctor. He’ll be helping, too, but he’ll be doing it from the medical berth while I do it through Somnus. Do you understand well enough so far?”

“Yes, you’re going to get me back into my body. Will I wake up okay?”

“You will with my guidance and First Aid’s assistance. Your spark is weak,” he repeated. “That means we have to softly bring you back online and you’ll need a lot of rehab. Aid and I are going to logoff now. I added this room’s address to my medical saved locations, and my registered license in virtual-reality extractions will let me bypass Jazz’s private firewalls without pushing the system. I’ll be back and I’ll be tunneling through your body’s recharge port so I can stay with you the entire time. Can you wait here for me to return?”

“Yes,” Prowl forcefully reassured. Ratchet and First Aid both disappeared. As soon as they were gone Prowl pulled Jazz into him and hugged him. “Thank you,” he whispered into Jazz’s neck.

Jazz grinned and lowered his face into Prowl’s neck, mindful of the twitching doorwings near his audial horns. “I’m just relieved that I could bring you good news.”

Faster than they were expecting a few pinging noises informed them that Ratchet was returning, so they reluctantly separated. When the doctor appeared he updated them. “First Aid is ready. He’s slowly working through your physical systems, per my instructions. I trust him to do this right. Jazz, I need you to log out and keep an eye on things to make sure no one steps in and pesters Aid for the room.”

Jazz nodded and logged off. When his conscious returned to the real world, First Aid greeted him. “Glad you’re back. Stand at the door. Pharma left Ratchet a message that someone is getting twitchy about Prowl. Evidently the unusually high and recent activity regarding him, starting with a vidphone call, then a visit from a ‘Stepper,’ and now the sudden outside doctor visit, has someone questioning Pharma’s orders. We’re not sure if they’ll do anything, but better safe than sorry.”

“I gave them fake information anonymously,” Jazz grumbled as he sat in front of the door, his peds digging into the ground should someone unlock and try opening the door.

“They still recorded it when your ‘Stepper’ ID was run through the system for relationship status check with Prowl.”

“Ah, so noted for the next time I sneak around hospitals. I guess the doctor I talked to earlier didn’t report me?”

“Guess not. You’re lucky you talked to a doctor not as concerned with upper management nitpicking or retaliation.”

Jazz nodded, turning his focus to the door and listened carefully. So far no hallway noises. “Will this take long?”

“Based on Ratchet’s projects, it’ll go better the slower we bring him back, so that his spark isn’t shocked so much when there’s suddenly a mind reattached to it, thinking, feeling, and moving a body again.”

|···|

 

After almost a whole joor Jazz saw Ratchet stir. Jazz switched his audios from hallway listening to Ratchet talk to Aid. “I had 100% body resyncing from my end when I disconnected. How are his vitals?”

“Much stronger. You did an excellent job of bringing him back at just the right rate and sequence to not stress his body or spark. No one’s disturbed us so I’ve been able to bring on the mechanical systems without issue.”

Ratchet hummed. “Pharma’s message indicated – oh wait, you know what? They’re probably still going through the administrative controls to not realize Prowl’s already been moved. Finally, a benefit to us. We might even have the right audience when we announce that the dying Enforcer wasn’t really processor-dead. Is he waking yet?”

First Aid pointed to a few readouts. “Looks like it, assuming he should wake normally?”

Jazz kept his optics on Prowl, too afraid to move or let his optics flicker for just a klik. When he saw a blue light barely illuminate from Prowl’s optics, he jumped up and moved to Prowl’s side. “Prowl?”

The optics booted up faster until they were almost normal. “J-Jazz?” His optics remained on the ceiling.

Ratchet questioned, “Can you see? Can you get your optics to focus?”

“I can see, but focusing my optics seems hard. My optics feel frozen, like they haven’t moved in a very long time. They’re starting to slowly move.”

Jazz leaned in slowly so to not alarm anyone until he kissed Prowl’s forehelm, just below his chevron. “Can you see me now?”

“Yes…” Prowl painstakingly tipped his helm back, as far as the medical berth allowed, and caught Jazz’s bottom lip in an open kiss. He let go and weakly smiled. “It’s good to put that to rest. I worried you downloaded Somnus’s ‘good kisser’ upgrade.”

Jazz rolled his forehelm along Prowl’s as he chuckled, seeing Ratchet shake his helm while First Aid didn’t react to anything about the medical reports. “That’s the first thing you say?”

“I had all orn to think about my first words, if I had a body. It was that or ‘I’m relieved you’re as good looking in real life as you are in Somnus.’”

Jazz gave him a kiss and Ratchet wirily excused himself from the display. “Well, I’d say the connection between his processor and mouth is probably working fine. I’m going to start making calls to get ahead of whatever panic-attack the Board is about to have. I’ll get you transferred to my hospital before I leave. Should go a lot easier now that you can give consent.”

Ratchet stepped out of the room while First Aid took over talking to Prowl. “While we wait, I want to check your motor capabilities. Nothing strenuous such as sitting up, just moving a servo when I ask.”

Jazz frowned. “So I shouldn’t try holding Prowl’s hand yet?”

“No.”

Prowl asked, “Before we get started, I want to know when Jazz has to leave?”

“Unless they kick me out, I’m not leaving your side for four more orns.”

“They’d have to call in the Enforcers to do that, so I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere.”


	12. Chapter 12

Three orns. That’s how long it took of his five orns for Ratchet, First Aid, Prowl’s Enforcer friends previously told Prowl wouldn’t survive, and the psychiatrist Rung to have Prowl out of hospitals and back in his own home, refitted his rehab needs. Members of his precinct took turns keeping his apartment clean, originally for the impending funeral wake. Once Jazz left they would take turns caring for Prowl.

Jazz never left Prowl’s side, even for the offered drink by other Enforcers for saving their missing companion. He had several reasons for not leaving Prowl’s side, including that he didn’t feel like he _saved_ Prowl. His mind was still absorbing that Prowl was _real_ , in an actual berth and leaning into him.

His struggles with grasping Prowl’s physical existence weren’t the only ones in the berth room. Prowl hadn’t recharged yet, too unnerved to go back voluntarily to Somnus. Rung worked with him and several experts to quickly build a private server where Jazz and Enforcers could visit him without making it feel like recharge. There’d be no access to the public servers, and Prowl wanted nothing to do with that, save for one issue.

Prowl told the authorities about the Lost and Severed mechs he met during his time as a Somnus-controlled mech, but refused to tell them who were Ghosts. Not until they could prove themselves capable of being trusted to handle that type of damaged psyche. He gave them very specific instructions about Red Alert and told them he wanted to see Red Alert on a vidphone as soon as the mech was able. If necessary, he was willing to have Red Alert move in with him. He anticipated the security mech’s distrust be debilitating to any recovery without someone there that Red knew while he was vulnerable. Besides, Rung would be around a little longer in Praxus until he felt Prowl would be alright with vidphone sessions.

Their final night was the two of them alone, with the specialized server now installed directly by the berth. Jazz had a remote interface unique to that server so he could return to Prowl when recharging in Kaon. Jazz sat behind the temporarily crippled mech, messaging his doorwings with one hand and supporting him with his other. A small bottle of high-end Vosnian highgrade sat on the table, less a quarter empty. Jazz was trying to get Prowl to relax enough to go into recharge, or just too sleepy to fight anymore. He wanted to be there for Prowl when he faced this fear.

When Jazz dipped his hand into a thin seam Prowl softly gasped and leaned into the fingers. He murmured, “When did you learn about that seam?”

“Blue. I asked him earlier this orn on how he’d get a Parxian to happily fall into recharge.”

“The talkative one, right?”

“Right. He said he could come here and help you out if you needed it. He feels awful for telling me to not visit you for a deca-orn because you wouldn’t notice it. Bee and Raj are still pretty beat up about it.”

Prowl reached up and over his doorwing to catch Jazz’s hand, only to fall a little short. Jazz paused his ministrations anyways. Prowl asked with concern, “You told them what I said, right?”

“Yeah, they know that you understand their concerns. That you saw the same thing a few times as an Enforcer, and even more while stuck in Somnus. Doesn’t exactly give someone peace-of-mind over an orn. Maybe when things are better for everyone, you could come to Kaon or us here.”

Prowl nodded, leaning into Jazz as the small amount of consumed highgrade started doubling the easing sensation Jazz was causing. “One of those ideas should work. I never asked you to extend your recharge for the same reasons as they feared. I didn’t want you stuck in there with me, voluntarily or not.”

Jazz drifted his supporting arm downward until he reached Prowl’s waist. He slipped his arm around and gave a soft squeeze. “Ready for recharge yet?”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll wait for you. Remember, Rung can remotely access the server should we call. We can call him through it without having to logoff.” Jazz resumed his massage, turning back on the soft music and offering Prowl another sip of highgrade.

It took a while before Prowl was relax enough to allow Jazz plug the recharge cable into his recharge port, as he couldn’t bring himself to touch it. It took a little while longer before Prowl was finally willing to initiate recharge, Jazz promising to be right behind him. They laid down and Jazz watched Prowl’s optics as he held his hands. Prowl didn’t want much more physical contact, worried that he might abruptly come out of recharge and harm Jazz.

As soon as Prowl’s optics darkened Jazz initiated recharge. To his processor the experience was like his sensors all hitting “fast reboot” at the same time, because he found himself in the exact same position in the exact same apartment, but with Prowl’s intense optics looking at him.

Jazz leaned forward and lightly-but-steadily kissed him. “Like we never left.”

While Prowl’s well-practiced neutral expression didn’t change, Jazz could feel the tension around his frame, seeing the subtle changes in optic color from fighting fear. He gently guided one of Prowl’s hands with his until his hand touched Prowl’s face. He didn’t break contact with Prowl’s hand as he rubbed the Praxian’s jaw. “It’s okay, stay with me. You’re okay.” Jazz murmured the words over and over until the signs of building fear slipped away.

“You won’t always be here.”

The Polyhexian didn’t respond right away, taking the time to slowly map out Prowl’s jaw and mouth with his fingers. “You’re on medical leave,” he gently reminded him. Prowl wanted to go back to work ASAP, as if that would erase the bad memories, but couldn’t for physical and mental reasons. It was another stress factor for him. “You can recharge on Kaon’s time so whenever you’re ready to recharge, we can recharge. I got us those communicators so you can call me any time or I can if something is going to change. Whether I’m at the Arx, my room, or a club, you can reach me.”

Prowl slowly ex-vented, the air cool against his warm frame. “Now what?”

“What do _you_ want? We can stay here all recharge or go visit the gardens. There’s that one really nice garden you can’t visit in the real world until you can walk, right? Think they said they brought that garden here.”

Pale blue optics glittered and Prowl cautiously moved his legs. He partway sat up, moving himself around while refusing to let go of Jazz. He didn’t want to let go of the one other real mech here. He knew it was irrational, but he was afraid of Jazz dissolving if he let go.

His fear alleviated a tad when he moved his body without the restrictions of a revived frame left locked in place for too long. Having found himself unexpectedly the voice to the government for those forgotten in Somnus, one of his points of advocacy was moving the frames of the comatose so a waking mech wouldn’t have so much rehab again.

“Moving again is nice,” he whispered, “but I can think of more life-affirming ways that involve moving.” His gaze shifted intensity when he looked into Jazz’s visor.

Jazz grinned and couldn’t help himself. “So no bondage training for me?”

For the first time ever Jazz heard Prowl truly laugh. “Ah yes, you’re discipline issues. I can’t believe I forgot about that, after spending over a mega-orn getting you to stop saying ‘yes, sir’ so sarcastically with orders you disagreed with. We may need to come up with new training methods.”

“Something for you, something for me,” Jazz promised, adding a kiss to the end of his promise. “We’ll find the balance together. I’m never going to leave my instructor. You’re too precious to me to ever let you fall through the cracks again.”

**Author's Note:**

> LJ Prompt:  
>  _"Cybertronian recharging involves plugging yourself into the main computer system for proper defragmentation. While your processor gets recharged, your consciousness is put into a virtual reality world created by the main computer system._
> 
>  
> 
> _Cybertronians can interact with others plugged into the system or choose not to interact with any other recharging mech. This system is controlled by artificial intelligence and reacts according to each mech’s needs/wishes/desires._
> 
>  
> 
> _In this VR world, Cybertronians can use their holo avatars to become anything/anyone they want._
> 
>  
> 
> _This can be based in any verse but your fic should primarily revolve around the virtual reality world and whatever holo avatar our black and whites choose to take."_
> 
>  
> 
> … So basically I filled the prompt in at least half of the chapters. It counts!
> 
> Prowl’s ID code was 32 chars long because in IDW’s 2012-ongoing series, issue #32, Prowl secretly uploads his mind into the enemy network while Jazz moves Prowl’s unconscious body, unaware of what’s happened to Prowl.
> 
> The story's bunny overlord was pleased with that detail.


End file.
